


mighta took the long way

by silkstocking



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2015-2016 NHL Season, Dallas Stars, Getting Back Together, Hockey Big Bang 2018, M/M, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/pseuds/silkstocking
Summary: A decade after their secret teenage marriage goes down in flames, Kari's estranged husband is traded to Dallas, threatening Kari's job and dredging up old feelings he thought were long buried.





	mighta took the long way

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to elenajames for making [this fantastic mix](https://open.spotify.com/user/thedropoutandthejunkie/playlist/7m3zQZUcFT80ntU5qDqo75?si=U13yfad-SCmjwNB8FecQMA) and also for the beta work and reassurance as I pulled this together. Please do give the playlist a listen as you read for the full experience!
> 
> This story was started way back in 2016 for [this](https://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/3088.html?thread=3975696#cmt3975696) Sin Bin prompt and it's taken me all this time to actually write the damn thing. Thanks also to Nadler, who pushed me to keep going. 
> 
> A lot of things in here cleave pretty close to the actual timelines involved, but obviously a bunch of stuff has been changed for reasons of a better narrative. The title is from Shania Twain's 'You're Still the One'; don't judge me, judge [the Stars](https://edition.cnn.com/2016/05/10/sport/nhl-dallas-stars-shania-twain/index.html).

 

_Stars Acquire Goalie Antti Niemi from Sharks_ was what the headline said. Kari blinked at it a few times, trying to make it make sense. His stomach felt as if a stone was sitting in it, heavy and sickening. Antti coming to Dallas? What did that mean for him? Last time Kari was traded, he had been ready for it, sitting at home with his bags packed on deadline day while the Thrashers flew to Colorado without him. Was this the first step to the Stars getting rid of him? There was a list of teams he'd vetoed, of course, but that left plenty of others, or they could buy him out—

Kari’s phone rang and he grimaced at the front office number on the screen before answering.

“Kari?” Nill said. “I assume you've seen the news? Great, listen, I know you must be feeling confused right now but Lindy and I have talked it over and we’re got a plan. We’re confident this can work out well for everyone, if you let it.”

“Plan?” Kari said.

“We have an idea to run a two goalie system. Both of you taking the starter role. Don't take this the wrong way, Kari, but we’re worried about the strain an 82 game season is putting on you without a decent backup. With Niemi here, you would be able to rest up, eh? Split the load between you.”

So not traded, then. “Have you—has he agreed to this?” Kari said. He found it hard to imagine the Antti he knew—stubborn, proud Antti—being willing to share the spotlight he'd worked so hard to carve out for himself.

“We haven't started talks yet. But we know you two worked together before at the Olympics, so I'm not anticipating there being a problem.” The unspoken threat in Jim’s voice was clear: _don't make it a problem._ “Is there anything I should know?”

“I—” _hate him_ , Kari’s brain supplied. _Was married to him. Am still married to him._ “—can't think of anything.”

“Well, okay then. Enjoy your summer, Kari. We’ll see you at camp.”

Kari put the phone down, feeling blindsided. Last season had been bad, he knew that, but he hadn't thought they'd ease him out like this. A trade would be one thing, a clean break, but just to bring in a new starter? Not a kid, either, but a veteran. Jim could talk all he wanted about a system but Kari was pretty sure he'd be relegated to backup at the first sign of weakness. Fuck. And of all the fucking goalies in the league, they had to pick Antti. It was almost poetic; Kari didn't remember much of the Kalevala from school, but he was definitely sure there was something about spousal betrayal in there. _Kari Lehtonen_ , his verse would read, _replaced by his husband, faded into obscurity_. What a shitty ending for an ice hockey career.

 

In the end, they only negotiated for two days before Antti signed. Kari didn't get any more calls from Jim, so he had to assume that Antti had kept quiet about their history, too. At the start of July, the new goalie coach, Reese, called him in to development camp. Kari had liked his approach so far; he'd spent some time going over tape together and watching Kari train, saying he wanted to get a feel for Kari’s style before they started working for real. Luckily, this meant Kari had avoided bumping into Antti. Until now.

“So, I guess you guys know each other already?” Reese said, looking between Kari and Antti expectantly. Antti’s face was an impassive mask. It had been a long time since Kari had felt able to read him with any kind of certainty. There was a spark of something in his blue eyes, though; challenge, maybe, or mischief.

“Just how small you think Finland is, Reeser?” he said, face perfectly straight, and Reese opened his mouth in confusion.

“Yes, we know each other,” Kari said.

“Great,” Reese said, “then we can skip all the awkward icebreakers and just get to work.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kari said. The less forced interaction, the better, as far as he was concerned.

The prospects were already out on the ice for a scrimmage, so the locker room felt strangely empty. Kari studiously kept his eyes averted as Antti changed. There was nothing sexy about guys putting on hockey gear but he still felt like the smallest glance would give him away to anyone who might be watching. He struck up a conversation with one of the equipment guys instead, got him talking about his dogs until Reese took them out into the arena to sit and watch the kids for a while. All of them looked so young to Kari’s eyes, faces plump with baby fat and bodies not yet developed. It was hard to imagine that these kids were the same age as he and Antti had been when they had signed those papers so many years ago. They had felt so grown up, so sure in themselves and each other and that what they had was something special, something permanent. But hockey had lasted and they hadn’t. One of the kids buried the puck behind Desrosiers and Kari cheered with the others. This was what was important. He needed to put his personal baggage behind him and focus on training, especially if he was going to have to fight for control of his own fucking crease next season. Glancing down to where Antti sat, deep in discussion with Reese, Kari thought that might be easier said than done.

When the kids were finished, it was Kari’s turn. He skated a couple of lazy laps, enjoying the feel of ice under his feet again, even if goalie skates weren't exactly designed for making beautiful figures. He turned when he got to the endboards, ready to set up his crease, only to find that Antti had beaten him to it. 

“I was going to take this end,” Kari said.

“Reese told me to go here,” Antti said, shrugging. “There are two nets.” 

“Fine,” Kari said, biting back the other retorts that sprang to mind and turning to skate back down. 

“Kärppä, wait,” Antti said. “This isn't going to be a problem, is it?”

“Like you said, there are two nets.”

“Not that. I mean, me being here.”

“No,” Kari said slowly, “but you better not get too comfortable there. I don't plan to share once the season starts.”

Antti barked a laugh, a sharp sound that had heads turning all around the practice arena. Kari shot him a grin with more teeth than strictly necessary.

“What was that about?” Reese asked as Kari skated past him on his way to the other net. 

“Nothing. Just joking around with my new... partner,” Kari said, testing the feel of the word in his mouth. 

But, he reflected, as he settled in front of the net, running through some stretches to shake off the last of the summer cobwebs, it hadn't really been a joke. Kari wasn’t giving up his crease now, not for all the estranged husbands in the world. Not for someone who hadn't had a place in his life since they were 21 years old and idealistic and, god, stupid. So stupid. _Fuck it_ , Kari thought, watching Antti settle into position at the other end of the ice. _May the best man win_.

 

* * *

     

> **_Sochi, 2014_ **
> 
> Kari went through the motions of his postgame ritual on autopilot, numb with the loss, stripping off his pads and skates without really seeing them. A few guys ruffled his hair as they passed his stall but he couldn’t look up and face them. Not yet. He kept seeing that first goal over and over: Loui in his peripheral vision, the centring pass, the bodies in front. He should have gotten across. He should have made the stop on a guy whose play he knew so well.
> 
> “Kärppä,” someone said.
> 
> There was a hand on Kari’s shoulder. He shrugged it off.
> 
> “Kari.” More insistent.
> 
> “Leave me alone, Antti,” he said. “You can gloat later.”
> 
> “That wasn't—”
> 
> “Just go.” It had been a long time since Antti had been the one Kari turned to when he needed comfort after a loss like this. More than that, he'd seen Antti’s expression, stuck on the bench. Kari didn't need to hear a breakdown of all his faults from him.
> 
> “For fuck’s sake—”
> 
> “Fuck off!” Kari said, in English to get the point across. A few heads turned toward them, Teemu’s included, and Kari felt his cheeks heat. He stood abruptly, wrenched off the last of his gear, and stalked to the shower. He paused at the door and looked back to see Antti watching him, expression inscrutable.
> 
> He made his way back to the village afterwards, intending to lick his wounds in peace, but when he pushed open the door to his room, he found he wasn't alone. As he was about to close the door again, Antti stood, saying, “Wait. Come in. I'll go.”
> 
> Kari waved him down, feeling suddenly weary. He sank down onto his own bed and closed his eyes. Next to him, he heard Antti settle back down too.
> 
> They lay in silence, but it was the most companionable silence they'd shared since they'd arrived. The last week had been filled with nothing but tension, palpable and choking, and it had become somehow worse when Tuukka got ill. Their history lay between them like a minefield, leaving Kari feeling brittle and on edge. But now, listening to Antti’s steady breathing, he felt calm for the first time in days.
> 
> “We shouldn’t have lost,” Kari said eventually. “Sorry.”
> 
> “You weren’t the only player on the team.”
> 
> “You know that’s not how it works.”
> 
> “I know punishing yourself over every goal is the quickest way to go insane. You didn’t see what I saw from the fucking bench, Kärppä. Where were the D? Why didn’t we have more offense?”
> 
> Kari flinched. “That wouldn’t have mattered if I’d made the stops.”
> 
> “Fine, of course, it's all about the great Kari Lehtonen as usual,” Antti snapped.
> 
> “And what is that supposed to mean?” Kari said, feeling his temper fray again. Antti seemed to bring out the worst in him. The years-old resentment was starting to simmer again, a glowing ember fed with new kindling.
> 
> “A decade later and you still don't get it. I don't know why I'm surprised.”
> 
> “You always were jealous of me,” Kari said. He swung his legs off the bed, intending to leave, but Antti pushed to his feet too. He blocked Kari’s path, and they eyed each other warily, squaring off like enforcers before a fight.
> 
> “What is there to be jealous of?” Antti said, his voice quietly venomous. “They should have put me in. I know I could have made those saves.”
> 
> Kari laughed mirthlessly. “Well, you’ll probably get your chance tomorrow. Let me past.” When Antti made no move, he added, “Stop being a dick. Fuck, I don't know what I ever saw in you.”
> 
> “Right. Now we know better,” Antti said, still in that strange, quiet tone. He took a step forward and Kari’s adrenaline spiked, his pulse racing as though he was facing down a sniper on a breakaway. They were very close together now.
> 
> “What do you want from me?” Kari asked.
> 
> “The same thing you do,” Antti said.
> 
> The last thread of Kari’s self-control snapped. He surged forward, barrelling into Antti and sending them both crashing into the wall. Antti gasped, momentarily stunned, and Kari took the chance to press his advantage leveraging his height to pin Antti under him.
> 
> “Is this what you wanted?” he growled, trying to force his knee between Antti’s thighs.
> 
> “Just shut the fuck up,” Antti said, and kissed him.
> 
> It wasn't a nice kiss. Teeth scraped across Kari’s lower lip and he reared back, hissing in pain. Antti shoved at him, trying to catch him off balance, but Kari was ready for him. They grappled with one another, snarling, neither willing to give ground. One of Antti’s hands came up to tangle in Kari’s hair, gripping hard enough to make him yelp. He sank his teeth into at Antti’s shoulder in response. Antti swore and dug his nails hard into the skin of Kari’s neck.
> 
> Blood was roaring in Kari’s ears. Beneath him, Antti felt familiar but somehow wrong. It was not a teenager’s body under Kari’s hands now but a man’s, solid and big, muscles shifting as he twisted in Kari’s grasp. Yet the taste of his skin still evoked vivid sense-memories, flashes of a time when it meant ’home’ and ’safety’. That was gone again in an instant when Antti found purchase enough to throw Kari off. Kari landed hard on his back on the bed with Antti breathing heavily on top of him.
> 
> “Fuck,” Kari gasped, desperately sucking air into his winded lungs as Antti crushed their lips together again in an open-mouthed clash of teeth and tongue. With one hand, Antti reached down to paw at Kari’s clothes.
> 
> “Don’t rip my fucking shirt,” Kari said.
> 
> Antti huffed a surprised laugh. For a moment, they just looked at one another. It felt as though they were balanced on a knife edge. Kari closed his eyes against the intensity of Antti’s gaze and Antti leaned down to press his lips to Kari’s, almost tenderly. A tiny, wounded sound escaped Kari, entirely against his will.
> 
> “Kari,” Antti said quietly. It was too soft, too much. Kari bit at Antti’s mouth, slid his hand roughly into Antti’s thinning hair, steered them back to safer waters.
> 
> Antti growled deep in his throat and ground down against Kari’s stirring cock. He got Kari’s shirt open finally and ran his hands over Kari’s bare chest, tweaking a nipple and laughing when Kari had to bite down on a moan. “Fuck, I forgot what that does to you.”
> 
> “If you just want to reminisce about the good old days, I'll go and find someone else.”
> 
> “Like who?” Antti scoffed and shoved Kari’s legs apart.
> 
> There was no finesse to the way they rutted against each other through their clothes, almost like they really were hormone-fuelled teenagers again, stealing desperate moments behind closed doors. Antti’s thigh was taut and unyielding where Kari thrust up against it, the friction just the right side of painful. He dug his fingers into the meat of Antti’s ass for better leverage, making him hiss, and settled into a rough rhythm. Antti’s mouth found his again and Kari parted his lips for Antti’s tongue, surrendering himself to how good it felt. Antti’s hands were in his hair, on his back, his hips. Pressure built in Kari like water behind a dam, threatening to break him open. He moaned against Antti’s mouth and heard Antti respond with a series of desperate, hitching breaths. Kari thrust once, twice more against Antti’s thigh, until the pressure peaked and burst, pleasure rolling over Kari’s body like a crashing wave.
> 
> Antti was still moving, dragging his leaking dick over Kari’s hip. Kari reached down to take him in hand, gripping just the way he knew Antti liked. It didn't take long before Antti’s whole body stiffened against Kari and he buried his face in Kari’s neck, gasping indiscernible words against Kari’s throat.
> 
> “Yeah, that's it, come on,” Kari said, twisting his wrist, and Antti came with a groan, spilling hot over Kari’s hand, his skin.
> 
> They lay there, both panting, until Kari gathered his thoughts enough to realise what they'd done.
> 
> “Fuck, you're heavier than you used to be,” he grunted, shoving Antti away and rolling out from under him, as much as was possible in a single bed that had emphatically not been designed for two adult hockey players. He grimaced at the sensation of spunk congealing on his stomach and reached for the Kleenex on the nightstand to wipe it off. Next to him, Antti lay with his eyes closed, still breathing heavily in the afterglow of orgasm.
> 
> “Fuck,” Kari said again, watching Antti’s chest rise and fall. “This was a bad idea.”
> 
> Antti opened his eyes to look up at Kari, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “You didn't enjoy yourself?”
> 
> “We can't do this again,” Kari said, ignoring the question. Enjoyment wasn't the point. “There’s a reason we’re not together any more.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Antti said, all trace of easy humour gone from his face. “I'm starting to remember it was because you're a selfish asshole.”
> 
> “Fuck off, Antti,” Kari said. He stood and busied himself with straightening his clothes and buttoning his shirt as he searched for the right response. The words stung more than they should after all this time. There was no reason to care what Antti thought any more. So why did he?
> 
> “Yeah, okay,” Antti said. “Next time you fuck up, I won't bother to help.”
> 
> “This isn't about you,” Kari said. He was aware that they were both raising their voices again but he found it hard to care.
> 
> “It will be tomorrow when I’m dressed instead of you.”
> 
> “Ah, of course, Finland’s saviour,” Kari said. “Let me know how that goes. Or don't.”
> 
> He yanked open the door and slammed it behind himself, only to come face to face with a wide-eyed Teemu. “If you're here to yell at me, Captain, just get it over with.”
> 
> “What would be the point? We can't unplay the game. Besides, it sounded like Niemi already took care of that,” Teemu said, nodding at the door. “Is there something I should know?”
> 
> “Nothing that concerns the team,” Kari said quickly. “It's snow of the past winter.”
> 
> “Didn't sound like that to me,” Teemu said, “but what do I know? I'm just an old man enjoying his last Olympics.” He grinned, slipping an arm around Kari’s shoulders and sweeping him along in with his usual exuberance. “Cheer up, Kärppä. We can find out what the score is and who our enemy will be tomorrow.”
> 
> The enemy was America and Kari took no small satisfaction in watching Tuukka shut out his adopted country, even if Antti did end up dressed instead of him. The celebrations were loud and alcohol-soaked, but the medal around Kari’s neck was a solid, grounding weight. He allowed himself to be drawn in to the festivities, dancing with a pretty blonde snowboarder and one of the goalies from the women’s team and a whirlwind of others, but none for too long. He was just about to join the baby-faced guy in the tracksuit who had been making unsubtle eyes at him from the bar when he caught sight of Antti sitting with Teemu and Sirpa, their heads bent close together. As he watched, Teemu turned to beckon him over. Kari changed direction, making a beeline for their table, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
> 
> “Kari,” Teemu said blandly when he sat down. “Sirpa and I were just discussing marriage with Antti here.”
> 
> “Marriage?” Kari said. The sinking feeling intensified. “What do you mean?”
> 
> “Well, it seems like you’re both in need of a little advice.”
> 
> Kari rounded on Antti. “You told them? Fuck, why? There is no marriage to give advice on!”
> 
> “He asked,” Antti said, shrugging as if that explained it. Maybe it did; it was hard to say no to your childhood hero, especially when he was your captain.
> 
> Kari groaned. “Please don't tell anyone else. It's private and it's been over for years.”
> 
> “I know a couple of guys you could talk to if you need to,” Teemu said, giving Kari a considering look. “About, you know. That kind of stuff. I know some guys find it hard to come to terms with their, uh, sexuality—”
> 
> Antti laughed, a harsh bark of a sound that made them all turn to look at him. “That's not his problem.”
> 
> “No,” Kari said slowly. “No, my problem is I can't stand you. Thanks for the talk, Teemu. Sirpa.” He pushed his chair back and turned on his heel, and this time he didn't look back to see if Antti was watching.
> 
> He was almost back at the room when Antti caught up with him.
> 
> “Don't you want to know what he said to me?” Antti called.
> 
> “You're drunk,” Kari said. He kept walking.
> 
> “He said we made a promise.”
> 
> “Let it go!” Kari yelled, spinning around. He was being too loud again but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “It’s over. You can get on with your life. Let me get on with mine.”
> 
> Antti crowded him back against the door to their room, pressing their bodies together. “Tell me you feel nothing,” he breathed, lips close to Kari’s ear.
> 
> Kari’s treacherous body was responding to Antti again, the way it had before, the way it always had. He shivered as Antti mouthed at his neck, the sensations going straight to his cock. But they couldn't. He couldn't.
> 
> “Antti, please,” he said, gently pushing at Antti’s shoulders until he stepped back.
> 
> “Shit,” Antti said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Sorry. Fuck, I'm drunk.”
> 
> “That's okay,” Kari said. “We both are. Just let it be over. Come on, let's get you some water.”
> 
> “We won a medal, Kärppä,” Antti said, leaning against the wall as Kari fumbled the door open. “An Olympic medal. With Teemu Selänne.”
> 
> Kari laughed. “I know. Who would have thought we would, back then.”
> 
> “I always knew you would,” Antti said softly, gazing up at Kari with earnest eyes.
> 
> Kari swallowed hard and chivvied him inside the room. All at once, he found himself longing to go home.

**  
**

* * *

 

As August rolled over into September, there was still the pre-season media circus to deal with before the real work of training camp could start. This season, the front office had brought in a new guy to make a calendar that would apparently make the team look sexy. Kari wasn't so sure. He was even less sure when he walked in to find Antti already modelling a suit for a harassed-looking assistant who was sticking pins in at the back. 

“Oh, Kari! Finally,” the assistant said. “There are a couple options for you over there. Why don't you try on the navy blue?”

“Sure,” Kari said. He grabbed the suit bag marked  _Lehtonen_ from the rack. “Are they taking us both together?”

“I think that's the plan! Goalie tandem et cetera,” the assistant said, standing back and brushing an imaginary speck of dirt off Antti's jacket with his hands. “Okay, make it quick, we have to be out of here by four.”

“Sure,” Kari said again, sighing internally. Forced proximity was exactly what he didn't want. 

Then again, it seemed like Antti wasn't too keen on it either. 

“Can you at least try to smile? And look like you like each other?” the photographer said. “I know you guys are Finnish but gimme something, man.” 

Kari grimaced. “Sorry.” He tightened his fingers on the puck he was holding and forced himself to smile. 

“Close enough,” the photographer said, and snapped a few more shots. “Okay, Antti, turn your head a little to the left. Okay, perfect. And we're done. Thanks guys.”

“Nice,” the assistant said when Kari handed him his jacket. “Although between you and me, I think you two looked kind of like a wedding shoot.”

Kari forced a laugh and made a supreme effort not to meet Antti's eye. 

 

The following day was media day. Someone had unfortunately set Klinger loose with the Stars' Snapchat, and then there was another photoshoot to do, and then Kari had to sit and give bland soundbites about how excited he was to be sharing his spot this season. He was tired and annoyed by the end; it was hard work to be articulate in English for long stretches of time, even after so many years in the US. In his hurry to be out, he pushed open the door and almost barreled into someone. A Starbucks cup went flying, spraying coffee all over the wall. 

“Fuck, sorry, man,” Kari said, reaching out a hand to steady his victim. 

“No problem,” Antti said drily. “Surprised it took you this long to try to take me out of the game.” 

“No, I just objected to your shitty taste in coffee,” Kari said, before he could think better of it. To his surprise, Antti laughed. 

“Okay, but now you owe me a better one.” 

“Guess I asked for that,” Kari said. “Come find me after you're done here.”

Going out for coffee with your ex, in turned out, was a masterclass in awkwardness. They sat in silence for several minutes, Kari toying with the rim of his cup and Antti scrolling through a Finnish news site on his phone. 

“How's your mom?” Kari asked eventually. He'd liked Antti's mother the few times he'd met her. 

“She's fine. She's planning to retire next year.”

“Oh. Tell her congratulations from me.”

“Yeah,” Antti said. He looked as if he might say more for a moment, then took a sip of his drink instead. 

Kari pulled out his own phone and checked his messages. Small talk was excruciating. Luckily, his cup was almost empty. 

After a while, Antti said, “You were right, this place does have good coffee.”

“Yeah. I like it.” 

A pause. “So when did you become a coffee snob?”

Kari laughed. “I bought a fancy coffee machine after I moved to Dallas. It took me weeks to figure out how to use it, but now I can't drink the bad stuff.”

“You know, they suggested I get a house in your neighbourhood when I moved here,” Antti said. “Nice place.”

Kari nodded, fingers straying back to his phone, but a thought that had been bothering him lately seemed to swim to the forefront of his mind. “Why _did_ you move here?”

“What? They offered me a contract.” 

“You didn't have to come here. You could have gone UFA instead.”

“I liked what they were offering. Jim Nill had a good sales pitch.”

“Even though I was here already?”

“Not everything is about you,” Antti snapped.

“That's not what I meant,” Kari said, working hard to keep his voice even. “Why come here where you'd have to keep this fucking secret when you could go somewhere else and keep ignoring it?”

“Fuck, Kari, I just want to play hockey. I want to win another cup. I think this team has a chance. If you cared so much, you should have sent me divorce papers ten years ago.”

“So this isn't about what happened in Sochi?”

Antti sat back in his chair. “You made it pretty clear that night.”

“I... yeah,” Kari said. “Okay.”

“You told me to let it go. I thought that meant we could be professional. If I was wrong, fine, I'll ask Nill for a trade tomorrow.”

“No,” Kari said quickly. “That'll make me look like an asshole.”

Antti laughed. “You are an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I don't want to look like one.” He sighed. “Fine. But I'm still not going to share this without a fight.” 

“I wouldn't expect anything less.”

 

Though Kari had been eager all through training camp to get into the net and play a game, to find out how this whole tandem mess was going to work in practice, his first outing of the pre-season was a shitshow: a 6-0 rout by the Blues, with Statsny and Tarasenko making the prospects look like beer-leaguers. It didn’t help that Antti took them to a win in the very next game. The following string of losses made Kari nervous, and by the time they were preparing for the final roadie of the pre-season, he was more than ready to get into things for real. He spent a long time in the showers after practice, thinking through the notes Reese had given him, and when he headed back to the room, he caught the tail end of what Demers was saying.

“—gotta ask, Nemo, what's with the ring? I don't remember you having that back in San Jose.”

“I did,” Antti said. “At the end. You just didn’t notice.”

“So, I’m self-absorbed. Sue me.” Kari could picture Demers’ grin. “Is it an heirloom or something? It looks like a wedding ring.”

“Well,” Antti said slowly, “I haven't been asked for a divorce yet. So I wear it.”

Kari paused just outside the door, his heart in his throat. Antti was wearing his ring? He'd been so busy not looking that he hadn't even noticed.

A burst of laughter came from the room. “No, come on, seriously,” said Demers.

“I’m serious,” said Antti. “That’s why.”

There was a moment of confused silence before Kari heard Klinger say, “Wait, it's really your wedding ring?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck, Nemo, are you shitting me?” said Demers loudly. “Kev, tell me if he's shitting me. I can’t figure out your Finnish jokes.”

“I don't know. Leave me out.” Jyrki’s voice. Kari felt frozen; there was no way he could go in there now. He edged closer to hear better, feeling like an asshole.

“Jesus. This is like the boy who cried wolf, except with, like, deadpan,” said Demers. “You’re not kidding, you actually got hitched? And you didn't invite me?” He sounded genuinely hurt.

“When did this happen?” That was Jamie. Fuck, now everyone must be listening.

“Thirteen years,” said Antti softly, and that shut them all up. Then they all started talking at once.

“You've been married for thirteen years?” asked Klinger.

“Shit, dude, you must have been young. Did you knock her up?” said Seggy, and then, “Ow, Sharpy, what the fuck?”

“How come we never meet her?” said Rous. “You ashamed of us?”

“Maybe she's still in Finland.”

“Maybe he's talking about his right hand.”

“Maybe she just doesn't want to hang out with a bunch of fucking hockey players with no social skills.”

“Does your wife want to be involved with the WAGs group?” Spezza said earnestly. “I could give her Jen’s number.”

“I—” Antti started, sounding very much like he was regretting saying anything. “Thanks, but no.”

“Are you sure? The girls are very welcoming. She does speak English, right?”

Antti sighed. “There's no wife, Spezz.”

“But—”

“It's, uh, registered relationship, really.” He paused. “Same sex.”

“Holy shit,” said Jamie.

“You've been married to a dude for thirteen years?” Demers practically yelled, and then, more softly, “Shit, sorry. I didn't mean—fuck, you never said anything! I knew you were, like, private but jeez.”

“Well,” said Spezza thoughtfully, “in that case, does your husband want to join the WAGs group?” Someone laughed. “Shut the fuck up, Eaks, they're welcoming.”

“Dude, you can't call it the WAGs group if there's dudes in it.”

“He's not supposed to call it the WAGs group anyway,” Sharpy broke in. “Jen would have his balls for breakfast if she heard that.”

“That's… thanks, Spezz,” said Antti, ignoring the rest. “That's kind to say. But we’re not really—at the moment—it's complicated.”

“Man, that sucks,” said Klinger. “Sorry.” There were various other murmured expressions of sympathy.

Someone touched Kari’s arm, and he glanced down to see Vern giving him one of his trademarked dad looks. The man saw so much more than anybody realised.

“Don't,” Kari said. “Don't say it, Fidds. I’m not one of your rookies.”

Vern raised an eyebrow. “Alright. But you know where I am if you ever decide to get your head out of your ass.” He strode into the room, saying loudly, “What are you goddamn losers standing around for? Is this a locker room or a slumber party?” Kari slunk in quietly behind him, more confused than he'd felt in a long time.

 

On the plane that afternoon, the mood felt strangely charged, as though Antti’s revelation had caused a shift in the atmosphere. Kari just hoped a storm wasn’t brewing. He had seen Jamie take Antti aside earlier wearing his determined captaining face, and Kari could only assume Antti was getting the same ‘if anyone gives you trouble’ speech that Morrow had given Kari that time he’d caught him sneaking back after curfew with a guy he’d picked up in a bar. Hell, maybe Jamie had heard it, too; Kari had never asked. He’d never really told, either, which he was glad for now. It was bad enough getting the side-eye from the few guys who did know Kari slept with men. He glared pointedly at Jordie, who had sidled up to Kari’s seat under some flimsy pretext, and then dug around in his bag for his headphones. God save him from gossipy, unsubtle ice hockey players.

He listened to a podcast on his phone for a while, drifting in and out of sleep with the rhythm of the guy’s voice. When it ended, he slipped off the headphones and let the sounds of the plane filter back in: guys talking in low murmurs, a burst of agitated Swedish, Spezza’s distinctive giggle from somewhere near the front. Without meaning to, he latched onto Antti’s voice again, almost like he was compelled to it.

“It’s no big deal,” Antti was saying.

“I just can’t get my head around it. Thirteen years? I can't believe you never said anything,” Demers said.

“Technically,” Antti said.

“What does that mean? Technically?”

“Got registered thirteen years ago. We’re…separated.”

Kari felt a ridiculous urge to laugh. Separate was pretty much the polar opposite of what they were right now.

“Shit,” Demers said. “What happened?”

There was a long pause. When Antti finally answered, he sounded sad. “We were kids. Stupid kids. Too idealistic, maybe. No one’s fault.”

“Who was he?”

“A friend. Someone I knew back in Finland.”

“A player?” Demers asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Kari held his breath, remembering Sochi and Teemu, but Antti only repeated, firmly, “A friend.”

Luckily, Demers let it drop. “You guys must have been intense. Christ, to get married to a dude at, what, eighteen? As a hockey player trying to make this fucking league? Balls of steel, bud. Balls of goddamn steel.”

Antti laughed. “One way to look at it, I guess. I still think stupidity.”

They were silent for long enough that Kari thought Demers must have gone back to his usual spot at the back. Then he heard him ask, quietly, “So why’d you wear the ring?”

“I don't know. Didn't wear it for a while. Now I do. Something reminded me, that's all.”

Kari shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Hey, well, we support you, you know that, right?” Demers said. “You're free to like, hook up or whatever.”

“Thanks,” said Antti, his tone bone dry.

“I mean it,” said Demers. “It’s a close room here, eh? The boys are like family and Jamie’s a good guy. So yeah, feel free, and if you ever need a wingman...”

“I'll take my chances alone,” Antti said, and this time Kari couldn't help the laugh that slipped out.

“Hey, I'm a great wingman. Just don't ask fucking Segs.”

“I hear you taking my name in vain down there, Daddy,” Tyler said from somewhere up the aisle. “Cards, asshole. Come let me win your money. You too, Nemo.”

“You wish,” said Demers, already standing up.

“Heard enough?” Antti asked tartly in Finnish as he passed by Kari’s seat. Kari turned his red face to the window, feeling suddenly, terribly exposed.

 

* * *

    

> **_Atlanta, 2009_ **
> 
> Being on IR fucking sucked. Kari was going slowly but surely insane stuck in his apartment like a dog in a cage, barely able to move with the pain in his back. At this time of year, he should have been gearing up to start the season, not lying in bed flipping through shitty daytime TV programming and avoiding both his physical therapy and his mother’s phone calls. At least it wasn't the Thrashers playing those games in Helsinki. Missing his chance to play with his team in Finland would have really tied a bow on top of the whole awful year he'd been having. But the fact that it wasn't Atlanta had been the only saving grace when he'd turned on the highlights of yesterday's game to see Antti on Chicago’s bench. Kari had known, intellectually, that he was in the league now. The Finnish gossip mill was efficient, even when none of them knew the history between them. Kari had even followed Antti’s progress a little last year when he was down with Rockford, not so far away from Kari’s old place in Rosemont. But that was the first time in years that Kari had actually looked at him.
> 
> It was strange, really, how much he hadn't changed, and how much he had. He was a little leaner in the face—although not completely, he was still Finnish, after all—and there was a new set to his jaw. But his eyes were the same grey-blue, with the same crinkle in the corner when smiled. Kari had found himself staring at Antti's face beneath his Blackhawks cap every time the camera caught the bench. Today’s game was even worse, because Antti wasn't on the bench. He was in the net. It was like being haunted by the ghost of all of Kari's teenage dreams: his ex-husband playing an NHL game on Helsinki ice while Kari sat at home eating junk food and staring down the slow death of his own NHL aspirations. Kari watched him get into butterfly, stretching along the goal line, watched his eyes tracking the puck as it dropped and the game began, and watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as Antti shut out the Panthers in front of a delirious crowd.
> 
> He picked up his phone and looked at it for a long time. He didn't have Antti’s number any more, but there were very few degrees of separation between the league's Finns. He knew he could get it by texting any one of them. But he wouldn't. It was time for his back exercises anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> It took until January for Kari's back to be sufficiently recovered for the doctor to sign him off the injured reserve. He was promptly sent back to the Wolves for a conditioning stint, which he couldn't argue with—he'd never been more out of condition in his whole career. Rosemont felt the same as it ever had, and there were guys he knew on the team, guys who were happy to see him back and healthy. Though his first game back was a shitshow, a 5-4 loss to Peoria, Kari had barely been able to stop smiling long enough to care. It felt so good to put on his pads and have ice under his skates again, even AHL ice. It felt less good convincing his body to contort back into positions that had once been easy.
> 
> The next game was better. He found the sweet spot between good positioning and good for his back, and eked out a win without too many pucks finding the back of his net.
> 
> “Atta boy, way to get back on the horse,” the goalie coach said, clapping Kari on the shoulder. Kari went to the trainer for a massage and privately hoped everything would hold for the two weeks it would take to get back to Atlanta.
> 
> He even felt good enough to risk going out for team bonding drinks after the next game instead of heading back to the hotel to baby his back. The first place they found was filled with Hawks memorabilia, which was funny. Kari spent a long time staring at it and thinking of the 30 minute drive into Chicago, which was less funny.
> 
> He slipped away after the second round. There was a bar he knew, one just around the corner with a rainbow flag in the window, and there was another horse he needed to get back on.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> It was strange to not get on the plane to Denver with the other guys. He knew what was coming as soon as they told him he wasn’t not going; after all, it was trade deadline day. He put on some loud music and turned it off again, unable to settle. When pacing his condo waiting for the phone to ring stopped being enough of a distraction, he switched on the TV. He heard his name and the names of a couple of teams, followed by the words ‘injury history’ and ‘poor conditioning’. Kari hit mute and looked up the Dallas game on the national broadcast. Best to know what he had in store.
> 
> Turco looked so chilled out between the pipes that he might as well be resting. It was almost the kind of lazy that Kari himself had been accused of; though he tried not to read the articles, it was hard to avoid the questions about his interests and his commitment, the whispers about his injuries making him a draft bust. He followed the movement of the puck on-screen, wondering if Dallas would want him to start, or if they'd doubt him too, if he'd be sitting on the bench watching Turco. Just like he was doing now. Turco made a save, the puck rebounding off his pads, and then the camera swung back down to the other end as the Stars went on a breakaway. Number 14 took a shot, and the Blackhawks' goalie gloved it. Kari sat up a little straighter as he watched the replay. He had been expecting Huet in the net, but that was Antti.
> 
> Atlanta had been due to play Chicago in three days time, for the first time since Antti had been in the league. Not that Kari was counting. He had been half dreading seeing him, especially when Kari had spent the whole season on IR while Antti had been playing. Winning. At least a trade was his chance for a clean slate and a new start. And, he reflected, turning his eyes back to the screen, at least one game against Chicago he wouldn’t have to play.
> 
>  
> 
> In the end, being traded seemed to involve a lot of meetings.
> 
> “I'm going to level with you, Kari,” the trainer said. “I know you've been rehabbing your back this season, but they're going to want you to make some changes conditioning-wise if you're going to see ice time. You're a good twenty pounds over where you should be.”
> 
> “But you do think I could see ice time?” Kari said. He almost didn’t care about the other stuff, even though it stung to hear. “They want me to play?”
> 
> “Everyone here sees a lot of potential in you, Kari,” Nieuwendyk told him as he shook Kari’s hand.
> 
> Kari took the list of workout and meal plans without complaint. He even took the card for the sports shrink. It was good to have a goal to work toward again. It was good to be wanted.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> The Thrashers fired their entire coaching team in April. Afterwards, against Kari’s better judgement, he watched every single playoff game Chicago played.
> 
> The day after the final, he woke to find a missed call on his phone from a unknown number. There was a voicemail; the start of it was just loud noise, cheering and laughing, until, “Kärppä!”
> 
> Kari hit delete.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> Turks got let go over the summer, surprising no one who could read between the lines. Kari threw himself into training and came into the season opener feeling strong and fit, better than he had in years. He liked Dallas, he liked the guys, and he liked how easily he’d slipped back into the starter role, like putting on a familiar sweater or hitting the last stretch of highway before home. His old rituals still comforted him before games, and his new ones slotted alongside them. He was carving a place for himself here.
> 
> In November, the Sharks came to town. Kari carefully avoided the visitors' locker room; it wasn't as if he usually had much cause to go there, but tonight it felt as if he needed to give it an extra wide berth. He had restless energy to burn, throwing himself into pre-game soccer with far more enthusiasm than necessary. 
> 
> “Woah,” Loui said, laughing, the third time he had to dive out of the way of an especially hard shot. “What's gotten into you?”
> 
> “Just want to win this one, I guess,” Kari said.
> 
> “Save it for the game, bud,” Morrow said, clapping Kari on the shoulder. “Divisional ones always take it out of you.”
> 
> Kari gave himself a shake, trying to get back into the right headspace. He hadn't been lying, not really; he wanted to win this game very badly. Before they headed out for warmups, he touched the small black box in his locker the way he always did, but the movement felt more charged than usual. 
> 
> Once out there, it was hard to avoid acknowledging Antti unless he wanted to both look like a dick and invite a bunch of comments from the guys. Everyone knew he was usually on at least nodding and small talk terms with the other goalies who came through. He circled around the ice once, twice, before gritting his teeth and dropping down next to where Antti was already warming up. He ran through the familiar sequence of stretches in silence for a minute or two. He could feel Antti's eyes on him, but Kari wasn't going to be the first to crack. 
> 
> “You look well,” Antti said. 
> 
> “Let's not,” Kari said. He didn't drop his gaze from a point somewhere in the middle of the boards opposite them. 
> 
> “Sure,” Antti said eventually. “Have a good game.”
> 
> There was nothing more to say. 
> 
> But when Morrow and Benny conspired to send the puck sailing over Antti's glove hand a couple minutes into overtime, Kari couldn't help but feel a little jolt of satisfaction. 

 

* * *

 

The season opener would be a visit from the Penguins on a Thursday night in early October. They were already planning to give Antti the start, and Kari was pissed off. He'd spent time in the gym earlier after Lindy had told him, pushing himself with rep after rep until he felt sick and exhausted, but no less simmering with resentment. He went ahead with his weekly ritual of calling his mother, letting her ramble at him about work and family and the goings on back in Finland until he felt calm and centred again. After he hung up, he hesitated instead of locking his phone. He scrolled down through his contacts until he came to N, sliding right past the newly re-added Niemi and then hovering with his finger above the screen. Fuck it, he thought, and hit call.

“Nurminen.”

“Pasi, it's Kari Lehtonen.” It was a long time since they’d last spoken. His ego would take a bruising if Pasi didn’t remember him. But Pasi’s voice changed from brusque to warm.

“Kärppä! It's been way too fucking long. How is Dallas?”

“Way too fucking hot,” Kari said, making Pasi laugh.

“Ah, but when you come home you'll miss the heat,” he said. “Wait, that's not why you're calling, is it? We could certainly find space for you in Lahti.”

“No, uh,” Kari said. “No. It’s not that.”

“Okay. Hit me. I know you didn't call just to talk about the weather.”

“Antti,” Kari said helplessly and then stopped. He didn't know the right words to ask about this.

“Have we stopped pretending I didn't know what was going on between you two?”

“I—he talked to you about it?” Fuck, how many people had he told over the years?

Pasi laughed. “We’re talking about Antti Niemi here, right? No, he barely told me anything about his life.”

“Then how did you—”

“I've got eyes. And ears.”

“Oh, shit,” Kari said, feeling his face heat. He’d always thought he'd been so careful to wait until he was alone in those days, even when he was rooming with a guy who didn't speak Finnish.

“Sorry, rookie,” Pasi said. “Some of those walls were pretty thin.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Look, I have to be honest. If you're calling to ask me how you can learn to share a net with your ex, I don't think I can help you. That's not really a problem I ever had.”

Kari sighed. “Yeah. I just thought… well, you know him better than me these days.” If anyone did, it was Pasi. He’d been Antti’s goalie coach for years before Antti came to the NHL, for years after Kari and Antti had stopped talking to one another.

“He's always been the same way, ever since I first met him,” Pasi said. “Determined. Hard working. Sense of humour drier than the desert.”

“Yeah.”

“So I can't tell you anything you don't already know, then.”

“Did he—” Kari started and then thought better of it. It would be a stupid thing to ask. There was no reason for him to want to know except for foolish vanity. And yet.

“He asked about you,” Pasi said, correctly interpreting Kari’s silence. “First time he came to Lahti. That’s when I put the pieces together.”

Kari let out a harsh breath. “I, uh. What did you say?”

“I don’t know, Kari,” Pasi said, sighing. “It was a long time ago.”

“Of course, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“He was sad when he asked, I remember that much. But tell me how you’re dealing with this two goalie system. I can’t imagine Antti likes sharing.” Pasi laughed. “Hey, at least you broke up before this broke you up, right?”

Kari forced a laugh and let Pasi give him advice and rang off with a promise to tell Antti to call him some time.

“Pull yourself together,” Kari said out loud, into the silent room. He only hoped he would listen to himself.

 

In the end, when the buzzer sounded for the end of the game, Kari found himself on his feet and cheering for Antti’s shutout just as hard as everyone else. With the crowd roaring its approval loud enough to shake the rafters, it was hard not to feel like this was a good omen for the season to come, even if Kari hadn’t been the one in the net.

“Fucking yes, Nemo!” someone yelled in Kari’s ear as they all spilled out over the boards and onto the ice.

“Two assists,” Kari said, holding out his glove for Antti to bump. “Maybe you should become a forward.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Antti said, grinning, and Kari couldn’t help smiling back.

They went out to celebrate the win, all of them piling into the private room of a restaurant where Jordie had called a friend of a friend and dropped some names in the car over. The mood was jubilant and even the old marrieds joined them for more than their customary one drink. Though Kari had never counted himself among that group, he technically should, he thought with a jolt, gazing across the table to where Antti was laughing with Jyrki and Demers. There were always certain groups that formed on hockey teams, and Kari had got used to hanging out with the single guys, even if he was a decade older than some of them. He was used to thinking of himself in that way by now: unattached, no one waiting for him at home. Antti coming here had forced him to rethink all the ways he fit into this team that he loved.

“Penny for them,” Spezza said, and Kari was so lost in thought that it took him a second to comprehend what the hell Spezz was talking about.

“Nah, Spezz, not worth that much,” he said, grinning a little to smooth his delayed reaction.

“You know... stop me if I'm out of line, here, Kari,” Spezza began. He nodded towards where Antti sat, and Kari's stomach dropped. Fuck, was it that obvious? He opened his mouth to reply but Spezza continued, “It can be tough to realise that you're not 'The Guy' any more, eh? One of those, uh, mortality things, I guess.”

“Mortality?” Kari repeated.

“Yeah, you know, this whole business of getting older. It was weird for me to come here last season and not be the captain anymore. I'm not the one who's expected to put this team on his back when it comes down to it. I just wanted to ask about how you're dealing with sharing the role.” 

“Oh, that,” Kari said, letting out a relieved breath. “Yeah, I guess it's... weird, like you say.”

Spezza laughed. “What did you think I meant?”  
“I don't know. I guess I was a little spaced out there.” 

“Well, I can't say I fully understand what goalies feel, but if you ever want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen.”

“Thanks,” Kari said. “We can see how it goes. It's only the first game, right?”

“Right. Well, first of many. Let's hope the rest go like this.” 

Kari raised his bottle in a silent toast, and Spezza clinked his own against it. But inside, Kari fervently hoped this wasn't the first of many games he watched from the sidelines. 

 

*

  
Their stalls were on opposite sides of the room, a fact for which Kari was grateful; he really hadn’t wanted the supremely awkward task of dressing right next to his ex every game. It was a surprise, then, the first time Antti threw himself down in Jyrki’s spot, ignoring both the defenseman’s confused glare and Kari’s noise of protest.   
“Are you lost?” Kari asked.  
“You need to improve your positioning when you’re screened,” Antti said, without preamble.  
“What?”  
“And I could drive a train through the gap you're leaving on your post.”  
Kari opened his mouth and Antti said, “No, don't argue. Just think about it.”  
And then he was gone, back to his own stall to strip off his gear.   
Jyrki gave Kari a curious look and Kari shrugged at him. But he supposed it wouldn't hurt to check the tape.

After his next start, Kari was ready for it when Antti waddled over to sit in Jyrki's stall. Jyrki only sighed and moved out of the way. 

“What do you want now?” Kari said, for appearance sake. He was pretty sure he knew.

Antti grinned. “You fixed the post lean.”

“That wasn't just because you said it.” The words were childish and Kari regretted them almost before they were out of his mouth. “I mean. I've been working on it with Reeser already.”

“Okay,” Antti said slowly. “Good game. You looked good out there.”

As he stood up to leave, Kari said, “Wait. What did you think about that Barkov goal?”

Antti made a thoughtful noise and sat back down. Jyrki rolled his eyes and turned toward the showers. 

 

* * *

  

> _**Rosemont, 2005** _
> 
> Things were finally clicking for the Wolves. They were winning far more often than they were losing and Kari felt comfortable in the net, with d-men in front of him he could trust to have his back. They were clicking off the ice, too, going out more to celebrate their wins and bonding over cards on the long bus rides to games.
> 
> On his day off, Kari woke to a message from Antti suggesting they Skype, and was surprised when he realised it had been nearly two weeks since the last time they’d done more than exchange a couple of texts. They were both so busy these days; they needed to start scheduling calls better.
> 
>      “I was thinking,” Kari said, once they’d managed to connect, “when your season is done, do you want to come over? I think—” he ran his fingers over the wood of the headboard, just in case “—I hope, maybe, we might go a long way this year. I might not be back in Finland so early.”
> 
> He yawned and shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable with the heavy laptop balanced on his knees. It took some effort to find the right angle away from the morning sun filtering through the blinds. On the screen, Antti sat at his usual spot at his desk. The angle of the webcam perched on top of his monitor showed his living room with his couch behind him, covered in a pile of laundry. He looked tired, Kari thought, but that could have just been the shadow of the late afternoon twilight. His ring had slipped out from its usual spot under his sweater; Kari could see it glinting when Antti moved.
> 
> “I have my own games to play,” Antti said, after a pause.
> 
> Kari grinned. “Of course, but after you win.”
> 
> “Don’t lick it before it drops. Anyway, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”
> 
> “Oh,” Kari said, fixing his smile and trying not to sound too deflated. “Okay. Uh. Let me know, then.” 
> 
> There was a longer pause, and then Antti sighed. “Kärppä. It’s not that I don’t want to visit you.”
> 
> “Then what?”
> 
> “I… a Mestis salary is not exactly an NHL contract.”
> 
> Kari laughed, relieved. “Is that all? I’ll buy you a ticket.”
> 
> “Kari—”
> 
> “I just thought—I haven't seen you in so long and it could be nice for you to visit America,” Kari said. “Get a taste for when you move here.”
> 
> “Move?”
> 
> “Well, yeah. Or do you want to stay long distance forever?”
> 
> Antti sat up straighter in his chair, and there was anger in his voice when he said, “Are you serious?”
> 
> “What—”
> 
> “I'm not your fucking mail-order wife you can import when it suits you. Did you think I would just come and clean your house and wait for you to come home for your nightly blowjob? No.”
> 
> “What the fuck? That's not what I meant,” Kari said. He sat up too and pulled the duvet up to cover his bare chest, strangely aware of his nudity all of a sudden.
> 
> “Isn't it? What else do you expect me to do?”
> 
> “You could play hockey. You could take a tryout somewhere. At least then we’d be on the same continent. Or—”
> 
> “I can't. I need a work visa, for one thing, and I'd need one of those teams to actually be interested in me.”
> 
> “They would be if they saw you.”
> 
> “Kari, please. I have to be realistic. My agent has been talking with people from Lahti. They want to sign me. It's a real job, a starting job, not your… your American dream.”
> 
> “You’ve—” Kari bit his lip, swallowing his instinct to ask why Antti hadn't told him he was in talks with teams. “That's really great. I just… I suppose I just always thought you would want to come here. Eventually. With me.”
> 
> “It’s not that easy.”
> 
> “I know—”
> 
> “I don’t think you do,” Antti said. “Not everybody can be a second overall draft pick, the saviour of Finnish hockey. Some of us have to work hard.”
> 
> Kari flinched, looking away from the camera. “Are you saying I don’t work hard?”
> 
> “Fuck,” Antti said. The picture lagged on his pained expression and for a long moment Kari heard only Antti’s heavy breathing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
> 
> “You’re not the only person in the world who ever had to work for something.”
> 
> “Kari—”
> 
> “You don’t know what it’s like here.” 
> 
> Antti scoffed. “Are you joking?”
> 
> “What does that mean?”
> 
> “I sit and listen to you talk all the time. I know everything there is to know about fucking Rosemont and every petty bit of Thrashers drama.”
> 
> “I always ask you how your day was,” Kari said, stung.
> 
> “You don't, not always,” Antti said. “And—this sounds stupid, but sometimes I feel like an idiot for not having anything interesting to tell you.”
> 
> “But I'm interested in whatever’s going on with you.”
> 
> “That's not—fuck, you don't get it.”
> 
> “Then tell me!” Kari said, throwing his hands up. “Is this about money? If you need money, let me help you.”
> 
> “I don’t need your money.”
> 
> “For fuck’s sake, Antti, you’re my husband,” Kari snapped, and then, softer, “We’re supposed to be a team. Why won’t you let me do this?”
> 
> Antti scrubbed his hands over his face, displacing his headset and sending a burst of static noise through Kari’s speakers. His words were indistinct when he said, “I want to be more than just your husband.”
> 
> “That’s not all you are.”
> 
> “But if I follow you to America, it will be. I’m only twenty-one. I don’t want to spend the next fifteen years sitting in a fucking box with the wives. I want to play.”
> 
> Something twisted in Kari’s gut. “Fuck. This was easier when I was still in Helsinki,” he said. “I hate this. I hate not being able to do this face to face.”
> 
> “It's not about the money,” Antti said softly. He closed his eyes, looking even more worn out than before. “I'm building something here, on my own merit. You've had it easy, been the big star for so long. I just want my chance. I'm sorry.”
> 
> “You can't even give me a little credit,” Kari said, and now he was getting truly angry. “I thought we made a promise to always have each other's backs.”
> 
> “I do have your back—”
> 
> “Then why are you acting like I got everything handed to me on a silver plate? You think it’s easy for me? I'm still waiting to prove that I'm good enough to start in the NHL, and what if that never happens?”
> 
> Antti made a noise of protest but Kari barrelled onwards, unable—unwilling to stop now he was started.
> 
> “And you know what? Yeah, I want you here. Is that so hard to understand? Sometimes being here alone fucking sucks. There's a whole part of my life that I can't share with anyone. When the guys talk about their girls, or about picking up, or just about things back home, I can't join in. Or I have to lie. I'm so tired of lying.”
> 
> “So now you want to pick up?”
> 
> “Stop twisting everything I say!” Kari yelled. “It's like you're looking for an excuse to be mad at me.”
> 
> “I'm not–”
> 
> “Then what? What can I say? What can I do to to make you understand that I'm in this with you?” Kari stopped, breathing raggedly, his chest heaving as if he’d just faced down a sniper on a penalty shot. 
> 
> Antti paused for a long moment, looking away from the camera. His fingers seemed to go unconsciously to his ring, spinning it around and around on its golden chain. “I don't know. Maybe there's nothing you can say.”
> 
> “Then maybe it would just be kinder if we stopped fucking trying,” Kari said.
> 
> He waited for Antti to argue, to tell him that this whole discussion was a mistake and they should start over. But instead, Antti sighed and said, “Maybe that would be for the best.”
> 
> Tears pricked at the corners of Kari’s eyes and he blinked them angrily away. “Fine. Fine! I hope you enjoy fucking Lahti.”
> 
> Antti looked up into the camera just once, his eyes seeming to bore into Kari’s, before the screen went blank and his status blinked from online to offline.
> 
> Kari sat back for a few shell-shocked seconds before the tears began to slip down his cheeks in earnest.

**  
**

* * *

  

“According to this,” Antti said, holding the drinks menu close to his face, “this one should taste of ‘resin, grapefruit and citrus’. Resin? Not sure about tree flavoured beer.” 

“I've seen you eat maple syrup,” Kari said, and took a swig from the bottle in front of him. “Hmm. I like it. I don't taste grapefruit.”

“These descriptions are always bullshit,” Antti said, and picked up his own bottle. 

The dim light from the bare bulb hanging over their table threw strange shadows across Antti's face as he tilted his head back for a swig. Not for the first time, Kari wondered what hipsters had against proper lighting. Or plastered walls. Or glasses not made from old jars. They were almost through the second long roadie of the season. Most of the team had taken off a couple of hours earlier, either back to the hotel or with Segs and Demers to find, quote, “whatever fucking nightlife there is in Raleigh.” Only Kari, Antti and a couple of d-men had stuck around, trying to find the weirdest beers on the menu to taste. It was fun. Relaxed. They had a travel day tomorrow. Fidds had just sighed and told them to be back by curfew. But after the last round, Goose and Johnny had pleaded tiredness and Facetime, leaving Kari and Antti alone with the grapefruit oddity and each other.  

“At least we don't have to speak English any more,” Antti said, stretching in his chair and cracking his knuckles above his head.

Kari snorted. “You really should practice. Your interviews are horrible.” 

“Oh, you think so?” Antti said. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, ruining his deadpan delivery. “The monosyllabic Finn who can't speak good English doesn't get asked much. I see that as a win.”

“Jyrki tried that last season. Now they've got him telling long stories about Starbucks.”

“The kid's got no stamina.”  

Kari couldn't help but laugh. He felt lighter than he had in a while, buoyed by booze and company and the satisfaction of winning two in a row. The irritating thing was that the experiment seemed to be working. They'd settled into a rhythm, more or less: splitting the starts, sometimes one of them replacing the other, stringing together the wins one after another after another. The atmosphere in the room was joyful after every game, loud and raucous and relentlessly fucking optimistic even following the few losses. It made a pretty nice change from the gloomy slog they’d had last year.

And that was the thing that was perhaps the most surprising, really. Kari was actually having fun _._ Well. He was a man in his early thirties who played a game for a living. He'd always known how lucky he was to be able to do something he loved. Losses took their toll, though, and between the pipes could be a lonely place to stand. His backups in the past had been too inexperienced or too arrogant or just plain too bad to be a good sounding board. But now they were winning. And Antti was always ready to argue back and debate with him, to watch the tapes and concede when he was wrong but hold his ground when he was right. Kari had found himself seeking out Antti’s opinion whenever he had the chance: in the TV timeouts during each game and in the dressing room, postmortem. He’d forgotten how much he liked having someone who he could really talk to about the minutiae of being a goalie. 

“Kärppä,” Antti said, shaking Kari out of his head. From his tone, it wasn't the first time he'd said it.

“Sorry. What did you say?” 

“I was just asking if you want to get another round.”

Kari raised his half-full bottle. “I'm good. We should probably head back soon anyway. I promised Fidds.”

Antti grinned. “He's only a couple of years older than us. How does he do that thing where he makes you feel like a child?”

“I'm young at heart,” Kari said, injecting heavy irony into his tone. “Basically still eighteen and at my peak. What's the word? Virile.”

“What the fuck? Virile?” Antti said, laughing. “I knew you when you were eighteen. You were never— never mind. Sorry.” He abruptly switched gears, clearly reacting to whatever expression was on Kari's face. “We should get back. Before your dad gets upset.”

It was a joke, but Kari suddenly didn't feel like laughing. That was the closest either of them had come to talking about their shared past since the season began. But maybe it was best not to look too closely at the elephant in the corner of the room, in case it decided to trample all over their good start.

“Sure,” Kari said, a beat too slow to sound natural. 

Antti clapped him on the shoulder before standing up and heading for the door. Kari looked at his bottle, shrugged, and downed the rest before standing to follow.  

 

Minnesota swung through town in mid-November, during the next homestand. Kari shot a text to Mikko Koivu asking if he wanted to get a drink after the game, and Mikko sent back a perfectly punctuated reply to the affirmative. Kari grinned at the man's familiar odd formality. It would be nice to catch up after the long summer, before the season grind really set in. 

After the game, after a beautiful overtime goal by Klinger gave them the win, Kari gathered up Jyrki and, after a moment's thought, Antti, and told Jamie they were heading out. 

“Where ya going?” Jamie said, looking up from where he was sitting with his arm slung around Klinger's shoulders. “I think Jordie was planning something too.”

Klinger laughed from under the cowboy hat still perched jauntily on his head. “Looks like secret Finnish business.” 

“Meeting some of the Minnie guys before they fly out. Promise we will gloat, like, a lot,” Kari said. 

Jamie waved them off, laughing. Somebody had put on a Shania Twain CD, and the music followed them all the way out of the room and down the hallway to where Mikko was leaning against a wall with Mikael Granlund at his side. No Haula, Kari noted, with more than a little satisfaction; maybe he was still feeling guilty for concussing Kari last year. A round of handshakes and stoic backslaps later, and they were on their way, out into the cool fall evening. 

They took an Uber to a bar where Kari knew from experience that nobody gave a shit about hockey players, especially when they didn't have Jamie or Segs to draw attention. The two younger guys fell into conversation immediately, leaving Kari sitting a little awkwardly opposite Mikko and Antti. 

“So, do you guys know each other?” 

“Yeah, we've met,” Antti said.

“It's good to see you, Antti. Kärppä,” Mikko said, nodding at Kari. “I thought we might go fishing this summer but you're a hard man to pin down.”

“There was a lot going on,” Kari said, “but didn't you have enough to handle with the baby? I'm sure you'll have plenty of space on your calendar again next summer.”

Mikko laughed. “Always the comedian, this one.”

“I've noticed,” Antti said drily. 

“How is this working?” Mikko asked, gesturing between Kari and Antti. “It sounded kind of crazy on paper, but you're the ones at the top of the division, so.”

“I think we're making it work,” Kari said slowly. “I thought it might be harder.”

“I've never seen you as a guy who likes to share the limelight,” Mikko said. 

“I wouldn't say that,” Kari said, and, with enormous effort, didn't look at Antti when he snorted his disbelief. “You just get used to your routines, you know? It's hard to have things shaken up, but maybe it's good as well.”

Mikko nodded. “Perhaps. It seems to be working.”

“Enough shop talk. How are Helena and the kids?” Kari said, in the world’s least subtle subject change. Antti watched him with thoughtful eyes the whole time Mikko was talking. 

 

They had a day off following the win against the Wild. Kari intended to spend it icing his sore muscles and watching the Brazilian Grand Prix and maybe treating himself to a long jerk-off session. Not thinking about hockey at all, was the point, but just as he was settling down in his media room, the buzzer for his gate sounded.  

The courier he let in had a lavishly decorated layer cake and some amazing-smelling coffee from a place downtown he liked to go to. Kari tipped him a 20 and slipped the card out of its envelope. In a familiar Finnish scrawl, it read  _happy birthday, old man._

“It's today,” Kari said, on his way up the plane aisle the next day, “but thanks for the coffee. Old man.”

“Fuck, I knew I should have checked your Wikipedia page,” Antti said, and Kari laughed all the way to his seat. 

 

*

  
  
Kari had known, deep down, that his luck was too good to hold. They snapped a five-game winning streak in the worst possible way against Ottawa: Antti got yanked after letting in three soft goals, and before Kari had even played ten minutes, he'd let in a softie of his own and been knocked down by his own goddamn defenseman. On his way down the tunnel to run through the fucking concussion protocol, he passed Antti running through his warmups. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Antti asked, but the headache blooming behind Kari's eyes made it hard to focus on an answer. 

He was on edge through the battery of tests they threw at him: questions about how the game was going (badly), balancing on one foot (a little wobbly), touching his nose (thankfully didn't poke himself in the eye). The last thing he needed was another concussion, not with so much at stake—but that was clearly too much to hope for.

“You'll have to take some time off, Kari,” the doctor told him apologetically. “A week at least. This is your third one in less than two years. We don't want to take chances with your brain.”

“Rest up, Lehts, and don't worry about it. Nemo can pick up the slack,” Lindy said. “That's why he's here.”

Kari didn't say that that what he was afraid of. 

One small consolation was that even though Campbell got called up, he wasn’t going to actually play. There was nothing more frustrating than sitting in the press box in your suit while some incompetent backup let in half a dozen—except, maybe, watching a competent backup audition for your spot. Kari spent his first game there ignoring Rig and Patrik’s dumbass chatter in favour of watching Antti’s every move, every save, every mistake, thinking about what he would have done and why. It was always a strange view from up there; both part of the team and not, all dressed up with nowhere to go. He didn't want to have to get used to it. 

He rushed down to the room afterwards, spilling over with things to talk to Antti about. 

“Should you be in here?” Klinger said worriedly when he caught sight of Kari.

“It's mild concussion,” Kari told him. “I'm not dying.”

“Fuck,” Klinger said. “I'm sorry, Karps.” 

“I know. You said,” Kari said, ruffling Klinger's hair to show him that there were no hard feelings. The kid looked so mortified that it was impossible to hold it against him. “I just came in to talk to Nemo.” 

“Man, good luck. I think he's pissed.” 

Antti was sitting in his stall, looking indeed weirdly murderous for a guy who just won a hockey game. 

“Wow,” Kari said. “I thought I was the one who should be annoyed. At least your brain isn't scrambled.”

“Fuck off,” Antti said, though there wasn't much bite to it. “Shit, I hate shootouts. It shouldn't have had to come to that. They need to get their heads out of their asses.”

“Just take the W. It's not your job to coach the skaters.”

“It's someone's job. Those fuckers need to stop taking so many penalties. I’m sick of cleaning up their messes.” He was speaking loudly enough to draw a few stares, but luckily Jyrki was the only one who could understand the words. Kari threw a pacifying look toward Eaves, who seemed as though he was about to whip out the credit card reader, before he remembered that Antti's fines and Antti's relationships were his own to deal with. Still. Maybe some redirection couldn't hurt. 

“Have you got that out of your system now?” Kari asked. “Are you ready for the verdict? Scrambled brain or not, I had a good view from up there.” 

“Are you cleared for this? Shouldn't you be sitting in a darkened room or something?”

“And miss the chance to tell you all the ways you sucked? Never.” 

Kari didn't miss the small smile that flickered over Antti's lips as he launched into his debrief. 

 

Kari's concussion symptoms had cleared by early December, which meant he had no excuse to skip out on the Independence Day party Antti decided to throw. Jyrki had invited Esa Lindell and Julius Honka to drive up from Cedar Park, and Antti's house was filled with laughter and Finnish voices when Kari pushed open the front door. As he stopped to remove his shoes, his attention was caught by the worn flag that had been set in a vase on the hall table, standing somewhat precariously next to two blue and white candles whose dancing light threw strange shadows across the cloth.

“Shut the door, you're letting the warm air out,” Antti said, passing Kari with a stack of shot glasses in his hand.

“Hello to you too,” Kari murmured, but he did as he was bid before turning back to the display. He reached out a hand to touch the flag's wooden handle, where _A+K 2002_ had been scratched in rough block characters using a black ballpoint pen. Kari traced each letter with a finger, remembering the night like this thirteen years ago when he'd put them there.

“I can't believe you still have this,” Kari said to Antti as he passed on his way back to the kitchen.

“It's a little unpatriotic to throw out the flag, don't you think?” Antti said. “Go and sit down. There's food.”

“That's not what I meant,” Kari called after him, but the moment had passed. He made his way into the house.

 

*

 

The run up to the end of the year passed in another flurry of wins, though even after he was cleared to play, Kari found himself sitting and watching more than he would have preferred. Or, worse, being ignobly pulled off the ice to let Antti clean up his mess, as happened in Minnesota in late December. Even Kari, however, couldn't begrudge Antti his spectacular shutout against Chicago on home ice the following night. 

“So much for the good old days, eh, Sharpy?” Segs yelled, practically launching himself at Sharpy for a hug. “Way to show those fuckers you're one of us now!”

“Nemo, you beaut!” Eaks crowed. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

“The Stars are fucking big and bright tonight, boys!” That was Jamie's voice, cutting through the hubbub of chatter and laughter and Shania Twain playing at top volume. A cheer went up around the room, and Kari tried to clamp down on the twinge of envy he felt watching a grinning Antti receive another round of headpats and fistbumps. His new year's resolution was going to be to take his team back. 

Kari let himself go with the flow, swept along with the rest of the guys as they tried to keep the magic of the win alive a little longer before they all went their separate ways for the Christmas break. That was how he found himself squashed into a booth with Hemmer on one side and Antti on the other, watching Klingberg and Janmark murder a karaoke version of 'Livin' on a Prayer'. 

“Are they really tone deaf or is this performance art?” he wondered aloud. 

Hemmer snorted. “It's real but I've heard worse. Trust me. Faks like to sing in the shower.”

Kari laughed. “Sorry, man.”

“Will be even worse when he's up with us full time,” Hemmer said. “You never thought about taking a rookie? Could be good for baby Finns to have the taste of home.”

It wasn't that Kari had never thought about it. But picking up and staying closeted was a little complicated when you had some wide-eyed kid in the house. He wasn't sure how to explain that, though.

“Nah, goalies are weird, Hemmer, everyone knows,” Antti said, coming to Kari's rescue. He grinned over his bottle of, apparently, chocolate-flavoured beer; Hemmer laughed and raised his own bottle in response. “Have to have our space. Anyway, he's a shit cook.”

“Bullshit,” Kari blurted, but both of them just laughed at him. 

“Hey, are you settled in town now? You have plans for Christmas?” Hemmer asked Antti. “I don’t know if—your partner?”

Kari hadn’t heard much talk from the team about Antti’s marriage, not since that first night on the plane. If guys were asking him, or acting weird about it, Kari didn’t know about it. But there was only curiosity in Hemmer’s voice, not judgement.

Antti shook his head a little, and Hemmer continued, “Well, Julie is gonna make dinner for us and Radek. There's room for extras, if you feel like it.”

“I'm good. Still got some stuff to figure out with the house,” Antti said. “But thanks.”

Hemmer nodded, then stood to cheer the Swedes as they finally put the song out of its misery. 

“What about you?” Antti said. “You have plans?”

Kari shrugged. “I usually go over to the Fiddlers' on the 23rd. Chrissie throws a good dinner party. Call my parents on Christmas Eve. Maybe make some rice pudding.”

“Fuck, do you remember,” Antti said, laughing, then switched to Finnish with a glance at Hemmer's back. “Do you remember when you tried to make dinner and nearly burned the whole apartment down? I thought the firemen were going to come and give you a lecture.”

“That was a long time ago,” Kari said. “Shockingly, I have improved since then.”

There was a long pause filled by the sound of their teammates partying. Antti rolled the bottle between his fingers and said, “If you want, if you're not doing anything, I could come over. We could drink vodka in the sauna and sing some hymns. It could be fun.”

“I'm not a rookie you need to give a taste of home to,” Kari said. The words came out a little more sharply than he intended but he wouldn't take them back. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Antti shrugged and gave Kari an ironic little salute with his empty beer bottle. “Okay. Happy Christmas, Kärppä.”

“Same to you,” Kari said, and slipped out through the space Hemmer had vacated before he could think better of it. 

 

* * *

     

> **_Rosemont, 2003_ **
> 
> There were things Kari loved about America. Warm weather. Hamburgers. The music. Playing with guys like Nurminen and Kovalchuk, at least for as long as the pre-season had lasted. Hockey was exhilarating here with the small ice, the crazy pace, the language and the accents and everything new there was to take in. The shitty internet in his hotel room, though, was not one of the perks. The first thing he’d bought with his first paycheck was a laptop, one with a decent webcam built in and enough juice to run StarCraft without freezing up. But the little hourglass on MSN Messenger just kept spinning and spinning, stuck in connection limbo no matter how many times he yanked the cable out and back in again.
> 
> “Fuck,” he muttered and reached for his cellphone instead, one of them anyway: the new-model Nokia with the Finnish contract and not the disposable with an American number. He pushed the button and tried not to think about how much roaming cost.
> 
> “Antti Niemi,” said the voicemail, tersely, and Kari ended the call.
> 
> _Hey, you still up?_ he texted. It was 2pm in Rosemont so it should be 10pm in Vantaa, not so late, and Antti didn't have a game tonight. He stared at his phone until he couldn't take the waiting; he still had the rest of his pre-game routine to go through, after all.
> 
> He tossed and turned for a while, unable to settle, until his phone finally rang.
> 
> “Hey!”
> 
> “Hey. What happened to MSN?” Antti said.
> 
> “Shitty internet in this place. I can’t wait to get my own apartment.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Antti said. “It's better when I can remind myself of your terrible haircut.”
> 
> “Shut up,” Kari said, feeling himself relax. Some of the guys had started chirping him about how much he called home, but when he’d told them it was a goalie thing, they'd left it alone. Nobody wanted to mess with the goalie’s superstitions, and this was part of Kari’s ritual now. “Tell me about your day,” he said.
> 
> “It was boring,” Antti said.
> 
> There was a pause. Kari listened to Antti’s steady breathing, in and out. Eventually he asked, “That's it?”
> 
> Though he couldn't see it, Kari could picture Antti’s shrug.
> 
> “There’s not much to say. I went to work, I came home.”
> 
> “What did you work on at practice?”
> 
> “Positioning.”
> 
> Another pause. Apparently that was all that was forthcoming.
> 
> “Me too,” Kari said. “Actually, maybe you have some thoughts on that.”
> 
> The tension that had begun to gather in Kari’s body ebbed away again as he dove into an explanation of what the coach had said. Goalie talk was easier, somehow, especially when he couldn't see Antti’s face.
> 
> After a little while, Antti stifled a yawn and said, “I should get to bed.”
> 
> “Oh,” Kari said. “Take the phone with you?”
> 
> That was the other part of the ritual. Some guys thought saving yourself made you a better player. He was firmly of the opinion that a gameday nap worked better after an orgasm.
> 
> “Okay,” Antti said, after a moment's pause, then, “one minute.” Kari heard a muffled thump, then a couple of doors opening and closing, footsteps and the sound of running water, followed by someone moving around the room, drawers opening, the rustle of fabric. He tucked the phone under his ear and settled down into the bed, slipping one hand into his shorts. The sounds were domestic and weirdly comforting. He could imagine he wasn't alone in a hotel room in a foreign country. He palmed his dick idly, imagining Antti's scent on the pillow instead of bleach and old cigarette smoke. 
> 
> There was a loud crackling noise and then Antti said, “Back.” 
> 
> “Hey.” There was a long moment of silence. “So, what are you wearing?” Kari said, and cringed a little. That sounded stupid. This was better on the computer, when he could watch Antti take his clothes off right there in front of him. 
> 
> “I, uh,” Antti said. “Nothing. I just got undressed.” 
> 
> “Yeah?” Kari said. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to conjure the memory of Antti's body. “I wish I could see.”
> 
> There was silence again, broken only by the sound of Antti breathing. 
> 
> “Are you touching yourself?” Kari prompted. 
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “Me too. Wish it was your hand.” He jerked himself in a familiar rhythm, gasping a little when he twisted his wrist just so. He could hear the telltale hitches in Antti's breathing that suggested he was doing the same. “How are you doing it?”
> 
> “I don't know, just... like normal,” Antti said. He made a bitten-off sound in the back of his throat and Kari's dick twitched. 
> 
> “Fuck, you sound hot,” Kari groaned. “What did you do?”
> 
> “Nothing. Just my hand.”
> 
> “You have to give me something.”
> 
> “This feels weird. You know I don't like to talk on the phone.” 
> 
> “Come on,” Kari said. “It's just me. What would you do if I was there?”
> 
> “I wouldn't be doing this myself,” Antti said.
> 
> Kari laughed shakily. “Yeah?” But that seemed to be all that was forthcoming. After a minute of silence, Kari breathed out. “Fuck. This is hard. I want to see you.”
> 
> “Video is easier,” Antti said. “Maybe we should just—”
> 
> “No, we can do this. For fuck's sake.” Kari gripped his flagging dick, coaxing it back to attention. “Okay,” he said. “I miss your mouth.” He swallowed, pushing through the awkwardness. “I love—fuck, I love it when you blow me. I think that's what I miss the most.” 
> 
> He let himself imagine that: a warm, wet mouth, his fingers tangled in Antti's hair. When was the last time he'd had anything but his own hand on his dick? He moaned, and Antti let out a familiar grunt that meant he was getting close.
> 
> “Or your thighs,” Kari continued, remembering he was meant to be talking. “Your thighs are so fucking hot. Especially right after you've been working out, fuck.” 
> 
> “Fuck,” Antti groaned. “Kärppä.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Kari said, nonsensically, “yeah.” It didn't take long after that for him to come into his cupped hand, still thinking about the sheen of sweat on Antti's skin, the scent at the base of his neck, the tremble in his legs when he was close to orgasm. 
> 
> Afterwards, he lay on his back, panting, until the reality of the grossness of a handful of cold jizz cut through his post-orgasmic haze. He reached over to wipe his hand on a discarded t-shirt, dislodging the phone from somewhere near his ear as he did so. 
> 
> “Ah, fuck,” he said, wiping his hand quickly so he could pick it back up. “Are you still there?” 
> 
> “Yeah,” Antti said. He sounded sleepy and satisfied. 
> 
> “Did you come?”
> 
> “Yeah.” 
> 
> “That was fun.”
> 
> “Yeah.” There was a beat of silence, and then Antti said, softly, “I miss you too.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Kari said. “I'll talk to you tomorrow. Hope MSN is working by then.”
> 
> “Have a good game.” 
> 
> “You too.” 
> 
> Kari rolled over, but it took him a surprisingly long time to fall asleep. 

 

* * *

 

 They rang in the new year on a high, soundly beating the Preds at home, but January followed like a damp squib. They went on a three game skid, followed by a four game one. Instead of the stretches of several games each that he and Antti had become used to, they were swapped constantly, game after game. But it didn't matter which of them was in the net: they kept giving up goals, they kept losing, and the joyful energy of the first few months seemed to have drained away like snow melt. The whole team seemed on edge, and it only got worse the more games Benn and Seguin went without a goal. 

“I’m going to lift the fucking cat onto the table,” Antti said. He was slouching on Kari's couch with a cup of coffee in his hands and a grim expression on his face. “This team sucks right now.”

They'd just come off a California roadie with nothing to show for it other than a bunch of new bruises on Kari's skin and a growing sense of frustration. There was tape from the last few games pulled up on the laptop streaming to Kari's huge TV, but the thought of actually watching it was filling Kari with a deep embarrassment. He was pretty sure Antti felt the same, judging by his uncharacteristic reluctance to press play and give colour-commentary on all of Kari's faults. 

“I know,” Kari said. “But what the hell do we do about it?”

“If you know a trick to magic up some goals and make the assholes on the power play stop giving up fucking breakaways, now's the time.”

“It's not just them. It's us.”

“It's this switching,” Antti said. He sat up straighter, looking serious. “It's hard to get comfortable. Ruff should give me a clean run. Three games, four games. Let me find a groove.”

“Why should it be you?” Kari said. “I could do that too.”

“Fine. It doesn't matter who they pick,” Antti allowed, but Kari could tell he still thought it should be him. “The point is getting starts consistently. What goalie do you know who likes uncertainty, Kärppä? None of us do.”

“I heard Lindy tell a reporter he wanted to ride the hot hand. I guess the problem is that we're both cold.”

“But how do you get hot if you don't get a chance? This wasn't why I signed here. They promised me—”

“What? My spot?”

“Fuck off. I was going to say a fair chance.”

Kari ran his hand through his hair, trying to wind his frustration back down to a manageable level before he spoke again. “Sorry. You're right.”

“I don't want to fight with you about this. I just want to fix it.”

“What if they stick to this single game bullshit for the rest of the season?”

Antti grinned, looking suddenly sharklike. “Won't happen. Put the tape on. There's a homestand coming up. I'm going to get my three games.”

“I thought you didn't want to fight.”

“I thought you were up for the challenge, or was all that stuff at the start of the season just posturing?”

Kari had known the man long enough to know when he was being baited into something, but at least this something was productive. Antti wasn't wrong; they both needed to try and prove themselves. He sighed and reached down to push play on his laptop. Time to rip off the band-aid.  

 

In the end, Antti got his three games. Kari went into the All-Star break with a chip on his shoulder and a determination to shake it off before the season resumed. Luckily, a bunch of the guys and their girlfriends had organised a trip to Cabo. Kari caught up with Eakin and Sceviour in a lounge at DFW. Cody glanced at him sideways as Kari sat down, but accepted the beer he handed him all the same.

“Look who decided to show his face. I thought you'd permanently joined the boring old men crew.”

“Don't let Chubbs hear you say that,” Kari told him. “Team unity and all that bullshit.”

“Right, but he's stuck in Nashville keeping Seggy out of trouble,” Cody said, grinning. “Where you been, Karps? I missed you.”

“Around,” Kari said vaguely. “But no way I would miss this trip. I need to get out of Dallas.” 

“Amen to that, bud,” Cody said.

“Kari,” Cody's girlfriend Jessica said, leaning across his lap, “we all agreed no shop talk.”

“Done,” Kari said. “I don't even want to think about it.” He grinned at her, and she laughed and raised her glass to him. 

Sceves came over and threw his arm around Kari's shoulder, settling down into the seat next to him. “Man, Karps, I'm glad you're here. I thought I was going to be stuck third-wheeling it the whole weekend. Now we can wingman for each other. That accent, bro. Secret weapon.” 

Kari laughed. “If you say so.” But it had been a surprisingly long time since he last hooked up.

“Nemo's coming too so you won't be the only single guys,” Cody interjected. 

“Technically,” Sceves said.

“What's technically?” Jessica asked.

Sceves made a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression. “He's, uh, married but he says it's complicated.” 

“Aw. So his wife doesn't live here?”

“In Finland, I guess,” Cody said.

“Do you know her, Kari?”

Kari tried to keep his face schooled. “No. Me and Nemo aren't close.”

“Bullshit,” Cody said, laughing. “You guys always have your heads together for your secret goalie talks or whatever it is you do after games. We haven't hardly seen you the whole season.” 

“Who hasn't seen who?” Klinger said, appearing behind them with a bunch of bags and his girlfriend Fanny in tow. She hugged Jessica, thankfully distracting her from asking more questions about Antti's non-existent wife. 

“The goalies,” Cody said to Klinger, who made a noise of understanding. 

“Goalies are weird.”

“Amen to  _that_ ,” Kari said loudly, and let the resulting laughter steer the conversation into safer waters.

 

January in Cabo was pleasantly warm, nothing like the winter weather of Kari's homeland or even the mild Januaries of his adopted city. The sea shimmered like a blue-green jewel, and Kari took a deep breath, letting salt air fill his lungs. It was strange how easy it was to miss the water when you were landlocked, and stranger still how any sea, even one as different as this from the steel-grey Baltic, could settle Kari's nerves and make him feel at home again. He was looking forward to some quiet time: the beach and his headphones, or a sport-fishing trip with Cody and the boys, maybe. But they weren't the only hockey players spending their All-Star break in Mexico, and they'd barely ordered a drink in the first bar before Demers and Antti had found a group of Sharks to exchange hugs and backslaps and war stories with. Kari rolled his eyes and struck up a conversation with Demers' girlfriend about her work on Broadway. One of the Sharks wandered over after a while and stood listening at Kari's elbow, occasionally interjecting a question to Jill. 

“Lehtonen, right?” he said, when Jill had turned away to talk to someone else. “Not sure we've ever been introduced but I remember you hanging out with Nemo when we were here a couple summers ago. Logan.”

Kari dutifully reached out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, man. How's your trip?”

He let Logan talk, nodding along. He'd almost forgotten about that chance meeting on their summer trip. 'Hanging out' didn't truly describe what had really been an icily-polite mutual acknowledgement, the double wounds of an early playoff exit and their Sochi confrontation still not quite healed over. But when he glanced over to where Antti stood laughing with Dills, he was surprised to find much of the animosity he had felt last year had bled away almost without him noticing, settling into something warmer and more comfortable beneath the lingering sting of hockey rivalry. Huh. Logan, clearly having gotten bored of Kari's failure to keep up his end of the conversation, wandered off again, leaving Kari alone to ponder what that might mean. 

Someone—Cody, or maybe one of the other girlfriends—had clearly set Jessica straight about Antti's 'wife', because she kept shooting strange looks at Antti at dinner that night. This was the kind of thing he'd been worried about—this, and the guys who had quietly started waiting for Antti to hit the showers before they stripped their gear, and the refs who turned a blind ear to certain words being thrown around on the ice. He couldn't bear the thought of those people knowing their history, speculating about Kari's life and what had happened between the two of them. He got out his phone during dessert to text Vern,  _are you the only one who has guessed?_  To Vern's credit, he didn't need clarification to text back,  _Nobody cares as much as you. How's Mexico?_   

“Fine! Phone at the table,” Klinger called.

“Fidds says hi,” Kari said, but slapped his credit card down to pay the bill anyway. 

The drop in temperature hit Kari like a brick wall when he stepped outside. He felt suddenly sober and awake, as if he had taken a whiff of smelling salts. As the others spilled along to the next bar, laughing and joking, he strode across the road to look out over the water. At night, this sea could be any sea: ink-dark and foreboding, with only the reflected lights and soft murmuring of the waves to suggest there was more out there than a void. 

“Thinking of taking a swim?” Antti asked, leaning against the railing next to Kari. 

“Not tonight.”

They lapsed into silence once more. Though Kari had his gaze trained on the water, he could feel Antti’s shrewd eyes on him.

“Do you want—” Kari said, at the same time as Antti said, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Kari said, tearing his eyes away. “I'm coming.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” Kari said. “Did you see which way they went?”

He could tell Antti didn't believe him, but he didn't press, only gestured for Kari to follow. 

 

The All-Star break was a chance to breathe, but the reality of the season was still there once they got back to Dallas. Kari found himself backup for a fourth game in a row, and then a fifth. On the road, even, which were games that had mostly been Kari's so far. He needed to claw his way back into Ruff's good graces and show the team that he was still the one they could count on. And he needed to get rid of his distractions. Like Vern had said, he'd been caring too much about this.

He found himself putting more hours in at the gym after games instead of running through a goalie post-mortem the way they'd become accustomed to. When they went out to celebrate finally— _finally—_ winning one in Colorado, he sat with Cody and Sceves instead of Johnny and Antti, and if anyone noticed anything different, they didn’t mention it. Kari finally got his chance to prove things, three wins in a row, and then, just as things were looking up again, they pissed away the last of February in another series of embarrassing losses. It felt like they were bleeding out again, slowly, and neither he nor Antti could seem to staunch the flow. The trade deadline loomed large before them, and the only thing keeping Kari from being more worried was that he hadn't exactly made himself look like an enticing trade prospect so far this season. Still, he spent the morning of deadline day working out at the arena with one eye on the trackers. When the Stars' news came through, he texted his sympathies to Jyrki, not knowing whether to feel relieved or disappointed. 

The game that night was another frustrating loss. 

“Fuck, didn't we used to be good at 3 on 3?” Antti said afterwards, sitting down next to Kari without bothering to strip off any of his gear. 

“Russell's not Jykä,” Kari said blandly. “He's not going to put up with you stealing his space.”

“What did you think about—”

“I don't feel like talking right now,” Kari said. “Ask Reeser if you want advice.”

“I'd rather ask you,” Antti said. “What the hell, Kari?” 

“I want to focus on my own game for a while.”

“We're on the same team. I thought we had a good thing going.”

“Things change,” Kari said. “Go and talk to Reeser.”

Antti gave him a look before heading back to his own stall. 

“Everything okay, Karps?” Vern asked as he passed. 

“All good,” Kari said, giving him a thumbs up. “Nice goal. Shame about the OT.”

“Jeez, tell me about it,” Vern said, dropping into the now-empty stall that still read 'Jokipakka'. “How did it look from where you were sitting?”

Kari didn’t need to look up to know that Antti was watching them from across the room.

 

He was only moderately surprised, then, when Antti's car pulled up outside his house later that night. 

“What do you want?” Kari said, pulling the door open to let him in and then shutting it behind them. His neighbours were nosy; he didn't need them seeing a domestic dispute on his front porch. “We have an early flight, or did you forget?”

“You clearly have a problem with me. I want to know what it is.”

“I already told you, I want to focus on my own game.”

“The playoffs are in a month and we just lost a whole lot of games. Do you really want goalie controversy rumours flying around now?”

“It's not a controversy.”

“Lindy Ruff seemed to think it was when he asked me to meet with him earlier today.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. He wanted to know if we were okay. He said people were talking.”

“About what?” Kari said, a sudden panic gripping him.

“Not about that,” Antti said. His hand seemed to unconsciously go to the chain at his throat. “I'm pretty sure no one would suspect we were ever together since you haven't spoken to me at all since we got back from Mexico.” 

“I have.”

“Telling me to fuck off doesn't count. Can you just... pretend that you don't hate me? At least when we're at work?”

Kari sighed, leaning back against the front door. “I don't hate you.” 

“Then why the silent treatment?”

“It's not about you. Sometimes I just need some space.”

“You can have as much space as you want when it's not affecting my fucking job, Kari.”

“Go home, Antti,” Kari said tiredly.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Then Antti said, “Fine. I'll go, but you need to deal with your shit.”

“My shit? This is the same fucking fight we've been having for a decade. I'm really tired of having it.”

“Look around you! Things have changed. I'm not the same kid I was and neither are you.”

“And yet you still can't handle it when something isn't about you.”

Antti scoffed. “Me? You're the one who sulked for two weeks when I broke us out of that slump.”

“I did not sulk—”

“You were moping around Cabo in the dark like a fucking goth teenager. I thought Ville Valo was going to appear and start singing  _Join Me in Death_.”

Kari couldn't help the laugh that slipped out at that. “You're so full of shit.”

“Maybe. But so are you. You keep acting like I came to Dallas specifically to piss you off but I didn't. I came here to win. And unlike you, I actually know what that's like.”

It was like whiplash the way Kari's mood shifted. “Are you serious?”

“How many games have you won in the postseason, Kärppä? Because that's why they brought me here. They needed a finisher.”

“Oh, come on. Go and find Sharp if you want to re-live your fucking glory days. Winning one cup with that fucking Blackhawks team doesn't make you a finisher. You were in the right place at the right time, that's all.”

“Do you need to see the cup ring? I could wear it to fuck you, let you feel what the right place means.”

Kari sucked in a surprised breath. “Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, you arrogant asshole. If anyone can't handle things, it's you. You hate it when someone else gets the spotlight. You never even called to congratulate me.”

“We weren't speaking.”

“I called you.”

“I know.”  

“I missed you,” Antti said, more quietly now. 

“I know,” Kari said. He stared down at his hands, unable to meet Antti's gaze

“I wish you would stop fighting me,” Antti said. “We've been good together. It's working.”

“Then why are we still fighting?”

“I don't fucking know,” Antti said. “Maybe we're just used to it.”

Kari sighed and pushed past Antti into the kitchen. He busied himself with the coffee maker just for something to do with his hands, and was halfway through pouring the second cappuccino before he realised that he'd made two, out of habit, or muscle memory. When he turned, Antti was leaning against the counter, watching him. Kari handed over the coffee without comment and took a long sip of his own drink before he spoke again. 

“Do you really think I'm arrogant?”

“I think that's the cost of entry to this business,” Antti said. “No matter how much North Americans want players to act humble.”

“Maybe we're too similar. Maybe that's been the problem the whole time.”

“Maybe,” Antti said. He sighed. “I was so jealous of you when we were younger. You've always been right about that.”

“I know,” Kari said. He turned the mug around in his hands; it was an old, chipped Team Finland one he'd had for years, dragged around with him each time he'd moved to a new place. He brushed his fingers over the lines of the flag, remembering the Independence Day party and the flag that Antti had brought with him to a new continent. “I never thought you'd be the first of us to win the cup.”

“Did you think it would be you?”

“I thought it would be Kiprusoff,” Kari said, honestly. “Or Pasi. But yeah, I thought I'd be before you.”

“You've still got time. Neither of us is past it yet.”

“What if I am?” Kari said, finally giving voice to the fear that had been lurking at the periphery of everything since Antti’s trade had been announced last summer. “Fuck. What if this is the most I ever get? You said it yourself, I've never won a playoff series.”

“You're a good goalie. You just think too much.”

“I don't know how to stop,” Kari said.

Antti offered him a shrug. “I just don’t think. Just react.”

“That gets you into trouble, too, sometimes.”

“True. Combine us and Jim Nill would have his perfect starter, eh?”

They were both silent for a long time after that, until Kari took a deep breath and said, “I hated that you won. I was jealous. That's why I didn't pick up the phone.”

“I know.”

“I watched the final. You were good. You earned that ring.”

Antti made a strange, aborted movement in Kari's direction. “Thanks,” he said softly, then seemed to visibly pull himself together. “The offer still stands if you want to see it.”

Kari laughed, and the weird tension between them unwound all at once, like breathing out. “Fuck off. You're such a dick. I can't believe I ever thought marrying you was a good idea.”

“It could be fun,” Antti insisted. “People pay good money for jewelled sex toys.” 

“What people?” 

“Rich people.”

“Like hockey players?” Kari said. “You think Kopitar bought a diamond dildo with that contract he just signed?” 

Now they were both laughing. “Can we stop having this fight now?” Antti said, once they'd stopped. “You're right, it's boring, and... I miss having you to talk to.” 

“Yeah.” Kari said. “Let’s call it a draw?”

“When have you ever been satisfied with a draw?”

“Fine, a ceasefire then,” Kari said. “We’ll get Jamie to negotiate the terms of the peace treaty or whatever.”

“Fuck, don’t even joke about that,” Antti said. For a moment, they just looked at each other. “Do you want to get drunk and watch a bad movie?”

“Early flight,” Kari protested, but he was already reaching for the booze.

 

* * *

   

> **_Helsinki, 2002_**
> 
> “Is that it?” Antti said. “Let me see.”
> 
> Kari ran his fingers over the paper, tracing the letters of the words that would let them do this. Become partners, legally. Forever.  
> 
> “Kari,” Antti said impatiently, craning his neck, “let me see.”
> 
> Kari handed him the paper. “No impediments.”
> 
> “Obviously,” Antti said. “We’re not brothers. We’re of age.” But his fingers traced the letters just the same. 
> 
> _No impediments_. Kari hadn’t quite understood before what that would mean. They had proof, official proof, that they were allowed to do this. There was nothing to stop them now. His stomach turned over at the thought. It suddenly seemed so much more real than it had a week ago, when Kari had pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin under Antti’s ear and murmured _we should get married_.
> 
> “We don’t have to,” Kari blurted.
> 
> “What are you talking about?”
> 
> “We don’t have to. Maybe there’s no need. Maybe we won’t get drafted.”
> 
> “Don’t be an idiot, of course you’ll get drafted,” Antti said. “You just won the cup. You went to the World Championships.”
> 
> “But I didn’t play.”
> 
> “You still went.”
> 
> The woman who worked at the register office was watching them curiously, so Kari grabbed Antti’s arm and dragged him outside.
> 
> “This is just such a big thing,” Kari hissed. “Someone could find out. Or recognise us.”
> 
> “It was your idea.”
> 
> “I know! But now we have the paper, I don’t know. It feels so… grown up.”
> 
> Antti was quiet for a long time, staring intently down at the paper. Eventually he said, “You are grown up. We’re nearly nineteen. You’re a Liiga starting goalie. And you’re going to play in the NHL.”
> 
> “You could be going too,” Kari said, even though he knew in his heart that it wasn’t Antti who was being scouted. It wasn’t Antti who had played the season for Jokerit, who was invited to play for Finland.
> 
> “There’s no point pretending,” Antti said. “You’ll be living on the other side of the world and I’ll still be here, playing for Vantaa. Driving Zamboni.”
> 
> “Antti—”
> 
> “What if you forget me?”
> 
> The words sounded like they’d been torn from Antti’s throat against his will. A pink flush appeared high on his cheeks and he turned his face away from Kari, suddenly becoming very interested in the brickwork on the outside of the register office.
> 
> Kari gently touched Antti’s arm. “I won’t forget you. I promise.”
> 
> Antti turned back, and now his face was oddly shuttered. “There are only a few weeks until the draft. The certificate lasts four months. We could wait and see what happens. It won’t even be valid over there.”
> 
> “I don’t want to wait,” Kari said, suddenly decisive. “Even if we both go, it’s not like we’ll play for the same team. I want…” He trailed off, brushing his fingers over the certificate in Antti’s hand. “I want a ring. I want to keep you with me, to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”
> 
> Antti put his hand on top of Kari’s, his fingers warm against Kari’s skin. Kari glanced around instinctively, but no one was paying them any attention.
> 
> “I want that too,” Antti said.
> 
> “So let’s make an appointment,” Kari said. “For the ceremony. And we should buy rings.”
> 
> They stood for a long moment, their hands still intertwined, just looking at one another. Antti’s expression had softened; he looked so handsome when he smiled. Kari felt a helpless smile creep across his own face at the idea of promising a life together with him.  
> 
> “Okay, but after, let’s go to your place,” Antti said, breaking the spell. “I want to have married sex.”
> 
> “We’re not married yet,” Kari protested, but they were both laughing when they went back inside to set the date.

 

* * *

  

“Kärppä,” Mikko said, grinning as he skated over. “How's it going?”

“Better after we beat you,” Kari told him mildly. He and Mikko were friends, but, well. They could be friends again once the series was done.

Mikko laughed. “Whatever you say. Hey, I heard something interesting from the rumour mill,” he said. There was a look on his face that made Kari’s stomach turn over. “Something about Niemi and a wedding ring. Didn’t you keep a ring box in your locker, back in the day?”

Kari was suddenly acutely aware that Jyrki had gone to Calgary at the same time that Niki Bäckström had; god, every Finn in the NHL was a fucking gossip. He schooled his face neutral, channeling Antti as hard as he could, and said, “Sorry, I don’t listen to rumours.”

There was the scrape of skate blades as someone pulled up next to them. “Everything okay here, Karps?” Jamie asked, slinging a protective arm around Kari’s shoulder.

“Mikko just came to wish me luck,” Kari said, switching to English. He gave Mikko his blandest smile and skated away as casually as he could manage.

Kari felt like he was fizzing with anticipation by the time they finished warmups, his nerves singing with excitement and terror, with the roar of the crowd and the magnitude of the occasion. Mikko’s words had rattled him but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting them affect his play. He skated to centre ice and waited there for Antti.

“You’ve got this,” Antti said, touching their gloves together. “Show them all.” His blue eyes sparkled with something Kari couldn’t quite name.

“We’ve got this,” Kari corrected him, and then it was time to play.

 

*

 

Kari won two games on home ice, and lost one in Saint Paul. Antti won one, and lost one, and Kari put the series to bed in Minnesota's barn. Kari clasped Mikko's hand a little harder than necessary in the handshake line, pulled him in for a hug, and tried not to think too much about whatever gossip was out there. It felt good to win a series and slay those demons, the ones that had been haunting him ever since his first playoffs back with Atlanta all those years ago. It wasn't just him; the rest of the team was similarly starved for playoff success, and the plane home was a lively affair, filled with the same five Shania Twain songs on repeat until even Spezza seemed to decide enough was enough.

Kari spent the rest of the week babying his back and his groin and admiring the colour of the bruises that mottled the back of his leg. They had few practices—Lindy understood that playoff hockey players were held together mostly with sock-tape and goodwill, and nobody wanted a stupid mistake to take someone out the way Segs had been. They did, however, have a lot of meetings, going over and over tape of St. Louis until Kari was dreaming in whiteboards and set-plays. The Blues series was going to be harder than the one against the Wild, that was clear. Minnesota had been a team running on fumes, missing a good chunk of their players to injury, and they had still put up a good fight. St. Louis was firing on all cylinders, coming in hot off a tough game seven win against Chicago. Now, more than ever, Kari knew he needed to get out of his own head.

Antti came over most days. They ate Antti’s cooking and watched a lot of brainless action movies and argued good-naturedly about stuff that had nothing to do with hockey at all, the further removed the better. They rode together to the rink a lot of the time, and Kari had pretty much given up on caring what anyone thought about it. The guys probably didn't think anything, too wrapped up in their own playoff rituals, but just before the start of the series, one of the beat reporters had asked Kari why they were sharing a car when they were competing for the starter spot.

“He had a flat tire,” Kari said, keeping his face perfectly straight. “Or maybe somebody slashed them. Not me, but someone.”

“Well, you know, it's a tough game,” he heard Antti telling the same beat later on, though whatever else he had to say was lost under the sound of Hemsky and Spezza warbling along to _Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under_. Kari grinned to himself. Let them keep guessing.

 

*

 

And then, just like that, it was all over.

Kari sat in his stall and gave answers to questions in a state of frank disbelief, barely comprehending the words he was saying. He’d been sure, so sure, after they roared their way to the divisional title, that this was their year. Even with Seguin out, it had felt like they had all the pieces. They'd come this far, battled the Blues to game seven—and then it had slipped through their fingers. Slipped through Kari's fingers. Literally. Four pucks in the back of his net in the space of minutes, never mind the fact that one had been called back. He was numb with disappointment and guilt. The dressing room was full of people: the guys he'd spent the season alongside and the wide-eyed call-ups here for the experience, the coaching staff and the reporters and the others who made a hockey team tick over. But Kari had never felt so alone.

Someone loomed into Kari's field of vision. “Come on,” Antti said. “Come on, get up.”

“What?”

“Get up,” Antti repeated, not patiently. “You can't sit here all night.”

“Fuck off. I don't need your help.”

“You’re my fucking husband,” Antti said, raising his voice for emphasis like Kari was an especially dense defenseman standing in Antti’s paint. “It's my job to help you. Stop making it difficult, you fucking idiot.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kari could see people watching: Rous, concerned at the tone though he couldn’t understand the words; Julius, staring with very wide eyes; and Jamie taking a step in their direction. Kari raised a hand to keep him back and said, “Is your idea of helping me insulting me?”

“Oh, what, you want praise? Did you want me to tell you you played a great game? Because you didn't. You played like shit.”

Kari recoiled, like the words had been a physical blow. “Antti—”

“Get the fuck up. Get dressed. And then I'll drive you home,” he added, in English, presumably for the benefit of a still-hovering Jamie. “You can't do it in this state.”

Kari was too bone-weary to argue. On the other side of the room, Julius had his head bent close to Klinger's, and both of them kept shooting glances toward Kari and Antti. Their secret would be spread around the whole team by tomorrow morning, but Kari was too tired to care about that either. He pushed himself to his feet, feeling his knees and hips complain with each movement. Antti steadied him with a hand to the small of his back, and Kari leaned into the touch.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said.

Antti responded with a tiny smile and a nudge to get him moving. Kari went.

The drive home passed in silence, but for once it was a comfortable one. Antti's presence was an anchor, steadying Kari's whirling thoughts. Kari's right hand kept stealing to his left, spinning the ring around and around his finger. He'd never stopped keeping it in his locker, even after all these years, and it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to put it on along with his creased game-day suit. He wasn't sure what that meant, but Fidds had caught his eye in the parking garage and nodded, so maybe it meant enough. Antti glanced over at a stop light and his eyes seemed to catch on Kari's hands, not looking away until the driver behind leaned on his horn.

“Alright, alright, I'm going, fuck,” Antti said, and then, “Where did you find that?”

“In my locker.”

“Your locker. What, you had it in there the whole season?”

“Rituals,” Kari said, shrugging. Antti was a goalie; he should understand that. “I've never played a game without it there since—since I got it.”

Antti was quiet for a moment. Kari stared out at the lights of the buildings rushing past, thinning out as they came into the suburbs. Then Antti said, “Even when—”

“Even then,” Kari said. “Like I said. Rituals. It didn't mean anything then.”

The question Antti wasn't asking seemed to fill the car. Kari thought they both knew the answer anyway. Neither of them spoke again until Antti pulled up in Kari's driveway.

Kari paused with the door half opened. “Are you still coming in?”

“You asked,” Antti said, as if that was an answer. Perhaps it was.

The house was dimly lit and quiet, suiting Kari's mood. He felt suddenly glad that none of the rookies was staying with him, selfishly pleased that there was no one else he'd need to comfort tonight. The talk of rituals had shaken something loose: a memory of a Helsinki apartment and late night comfort after losses, cold vodka and warm hands and sweat on the sheets, aching muscles pushed a little farther. They'd developed new rituals this season, Kari realised, watching Antti move around the kitchen like he owned it, grabbing their usual mugs from the shelf and putting their latest fancy coffee into Kari's espresso machine. But the last thing Kari wanted tonight was to dissect that fucking game.

He must have made a sound, because Antti left what he was doing to crowd Kari back against the counter, wrapping his arms around Kari's neck and pulling him into a hug. Kari pressed his face into the crook of Antti's shoulder and breathed him in. They stood like that for a long time, until the coffeemaker finished its work and Antti pulled away to tend to it. Kari slumped down on a stool, the feelings of miserable inadequacy coming back full-force. Antti set the coffee in front of him and pulled up the stool opposite, watching Kari's face with his steady gaze until Kari couldn't dam the torrent of words any longer.

“What if I never win?” he said, in a rush. “What if this was my last chance and I fucked it up? I have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

“You weren’t the only player on the team, Kärppä,” Antti said. They were the same words he'd always said, every time Kari was beating himself up about a loss, but this time there was a deep sadness in his eyes. “I could have turned it around. I should have. The boys could have got something going. You weren't the only one who fucked up.”

“Fuck. I know. But I was the first.”

“Yeah,” Antti said.

It wasn't a chirp or a barb, not meant as the kind of cruel insult they'd flung at one another over the years, but just a statement of fact: Kari fucked up. Perversely, something loosened in his chest at that thought. He twisted the ring on his finger around again, until Antti reached over to cover Kari's hand with his own, stilling the movement.

“Antti,” Kari said, “why did you sign here?”

For a long time, there was silence. Then Antti said, “I wanted to win again. Benn had just won an Artie, there was a buzz around this team, people were saying it could be good.” _With a better goalie_ , he thankfully didn’t say, but Kari heard it in the pause anyway. “But it wasn’t just that. I think you know.” His thumb rubbed circles on the back of Kari’s hand.

Kari bit his lip and said, “Let’s go to bed.” Antti didn't argue. 

Kari had barely reached the bedroom before he was stripping off the rumpled suit, as though removing it could cleanse the memory of the game from his protesting muscles. Antti shucked his too, leaving a haphazard trail of pants and jacket and shirt across Kari's floor. The chain around his neck glinted in the light from the lamp on the nightstand as he bent to remove his underwear.

“I don't want—” Kari began.

“Me neither,” Antti said, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside him. “I'm too fucking tired for fucking. Just come here.”

In the dark, in Antti's arms, Kari finally let loose the desperate sob that had been fighting its way out of him for the last few hours. Antti squeezed him, and pressed a kiss to his neck, and said nothing.

 

Kari awoke feeling as if he were hungover, with his eyes sore and his head stuffed with cotton wool, and for five glorious seconds he forgot why he felt so awful. The realisation was like plunging into an icy lake, swift and shocking. They lost. He lost. But he wasn't alone.

Antti slept beside him, curled on his side, the covers slipping down to reveal his naked back. For a long moment, Kari allowed himself the luxury of just looking, of cataloguing the strange and the familiar: old moles and new scars; the dusting of wiry, road-coloured hair where there had once been smooth, young skin; the chain that Antti hadn't bothered to remove before sleep, where Kari knew his wedding ring sat. Kari’s own ring seemed to burn on his finger as if the metal was heated. A lot of things had changed since the first time Antti put it there. A lot of water had passed under the bridge, but ultimately the currents had swept them back together again, a little older, a little wiser, and with a little more grey at the temples. And maybe Kari sometimes found it hard to get it up when he was tired or stressed nowadays, but that wasn't a problem he had this morning.

He rolled closer, pressing his lips to the warm skin between Antti’s shoulder blades and breathing him in.

“You want to be the big spoon now?” Antti’s voice was rough with sleep and misuse, another casualty of this series.

Kari didn't answer. He snaked his arm around Antti’s waist, tugging him closer until Kari’s erection was pressed snugly against Antti’s ass.

Antti snorted. “Romantic. Fine, just let me sleep.”

“When have you ever cared about romance?” Kari said, rolling his hips so his cock dragged across Antti's skin.

“I bought you flowers that one time,” Antti said.

It was Kari's turn to snort. He had: a big bouquet of carnations after their first married fight. They'd been in Vantaa colours, a whole, hideous spray of reds and blues and yellows. Kari and Antti had laughed, and said sorry, and fucked on the kitchen floor right next to the flowers still in their cellophane wrap.

“We used to have good make-up sex,” Kari murmured, his lips close to Antti's ear.

“Did you want to get started on the last ten years?” Antti said, turning in Kari's arms. Kari kissed him.

It took a couple of false-starts and readjustments to find the right angle. It had been easier in some ways, in Sochi, when Kari was just taking what he wanted from Antti with no thought for his pleasure. And this rekindled thing between them felt fragile in a way it never had before, when they'd been young and stupid and didn't know what there was to lose. Hesitance and caution was new territory. Kari brought up his hand to cup Antti's face, feeling the rasp of playoff beard under his fingers.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Antti turned his head to kiss Kari's hand, his ring. “I want to try again.”

“I missed you,” Kari said. It felt like a confession when he admitted, softly, “You broke my heart.

“I know,” Antti said. “But if I’d done what you were asking, it would have broken mine.”

Kari traced his fingers along the line of Antti’s jaw. Antti leaned into the touch, catlike.

“I know,” Kari said, finally. “I do know that, now. We were just kids. It was stupid to think we could do it.”

“Not stupid. I came to you in the end, didn't I?”

“It only took you a decade.”

Kari felt the muscles in Antti’s face move as his lips curved into a smile.

“Still counts. You never asked me to sign any papers.”

“Nor did you.”

“Smart of me,” Antti said, and pulled Kari into another kiss.

They needed to talk. But they had the whole summer now. Kari let himself be kissed.

**  
**

* * *

  

_**Epilogue** _

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Antti asked. He reached up to straighten Kari’s tie. “We can tell them all to fuck off and just keep the witnesses.”

“Nah. Weddings are traditional offseason team bonding activities,” Kari said. “Along with golf and new babies.”

Antti grinned. “Are you trying to tell me you're knocked up?”

“Shut up. You know what I meant.”

“Okay, good. I wasn't ready for parenthood. And Jason would never forgive me if he wasn’t invited this time. I think he's more excited than anyone.”

It had taken about five minutes after their locker room confrontation for everyone to know about them. Kari was glad that he hadn't switched his phone back on until the morning after, because alongside the commiseratory texts and voicemails from family and friends, there had been a deluge of notifications from the team groupchat all along the lines of ‘what the fuck?’ and ‘maybe Honks is confused’ and ’don't you idiots have eyes?’ (thanks, Vern).

On locker cleanout day, Kari’s exit interview with Jim Nill had consisted of a lot of disappointed looks and the suggestion that, yes, when your GM calls to ask if there's anything he should know, the fact that you're secretly married to the guy he's signing counts as ‘anything’.

“Am I fired?” Kari had asked.

“Do you think you should be fired?”

“I think we can do even better next year. And…” He swallowed. “And don't think Gaglardi wants that kind of bad press.”

After a long pause, Nill had sighed and said, “Neither of you is fired. But we might need to update the code of conduct. You don't have any more surprises to spring on me, do you?”

“Uh… we’re thinking about conversion ceremony sometime this summer? Now it's legal?”

Nill had raised his eyes to the ceiling and asked them to run all their plans through PR.

So, if everyone was a little overdressed in the Insta stories for “Karps and Nemo’s summer barbecue”, probably no one would be impolite enough to mention it. Probably.

“Kärppä? You ready?” Antti asked.

Kari smiled, and took his husband’s hand.


End file.
